Spooks in the City
by ImaSupernaturalCSI
Summary: Lindsay moves into a new apartment that just might already be occupied. This Halloween just got...interesting. Oh, yeah, and Danny just might be jealous of a dead guy. DL, hints of FAng and SMacked. Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY; they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**CHAPTER ONE: Breaking In the New Apartment**

Lindsay Monroe fumbled with the keys in her hand. After almost dropping them twice, she finally turned around and deposited her purse and two grocery bags into the hands of the person behind her. "Here. Hold these."

Danny Messer grunted under the weight of the newfound objects...and prayed that her neighbors wouldn't step into the hall and find him holding a purse. The horror of all horrors! "Sure, I'll hold your purse," he grumbled.

"It's only for like a second," Lindsay said. "Yes!" she said triumphantly as the key slid into the lock and opened the door with a click. She pushed the door in wide, and stepped into the room, looking like a kid at Christmas. Sunlight streamed in through the big window in the living room, and she eventually drifted out of Danny's eye line.

He stood in the hallway, holding her purse, two grocery bags, a laptop case over his shoulder, one hand gripping a suitcase on wheels, and a duffel bag slung over his other shoulder. "No problem, Montana!" he called out. "I got it-oof. I'm good!"

From somewhere in the apartment, Lindsay's voice rang out. "Danny? What are you waiting for?"

"Hell to freeze over?" he mumbled to no one in particular as he maneuvered his way into the apartment. The grocery bags immediately went to the counter; the purse was dropped to the floor near the fridge. The suitcase was propped against the door; the laptop he set gently down on the kitchen floor. Her duffel bag with her clothes was pushed over near the little closet. Freed of his burden, Danny finally got a good look at Lindsay's new apartment. After living with her uncle in Tarrytown for almost three years, she had finally found a place that opened up-in _Manhattan_, no less. The landlord didn't seem shady (Danny and Hawkes had done a full background check on the guy), and was asking for a little over four hundred for the place. Mac and Danny had done a man's construction overview on the place, determining it wasn't going to collapse into the floors below it, or that the neighbors next door wouldn't hear it if Lindsay and Danny...well, never mind. And Stella had already offered interior decorating tips, and she was at some department store now picking up housewarming presents for Lindsay, but only Danny knew that.

She came out into the kitchen, her eyes shining. "What do you think?" she demanded of him with a smile.

He had to admit, the place seemed too good to be true. The door opened into the kitchen. To his left was a small storage closet-the kitchen appliances and countertops were to your right as you stood in the doorway. There was a small wall that tried to separate the kitchen and living room. The living room took up most of the apartment, with two big windows that let a lot of light into the space. From the living room, there was a small hallway that took you to the little bathroom and Lindsay's room. It was big and bright, and offered a good view of the skyline. Plus, it was only on like the fifteenth floor, which in Danny's mind was good for safety. Closer to the bottom, easier to get out.

"Same thing I told you yesterday when I was in here checkin' the place for roaches-it's a nice place," he said, enjoying it thoroughly when his response lit up her face. She stepped toward him and ran a hand around his waist.

"I think it's perfect," she said.

"Well, if you like it, I _know_ I do," Danny said.

She hit him. "That was cheesy."

He wiggled his eyebrows. "You wanna go break in that mattress in there?" he asked.

She sighed. "Damn, that's tempting. But I can't; Stella is coming with a bunch of stuff, and I have eight million things to buy..."

"Montana..." Danny pressed.

She turned so she was facing him. "No. Not now." Even as she said it, her face drew closer to his. She closed her eyes. "I'll never get anything done," she sighed.

* * *

About a half hour later, there was a knock on the door. "Linds?" Stella Bonasera called as she stepped into the apartment, having not heard an invite in. She set down the bag of kitchen essentials she'd picked up for Lindsay on the floor and looked around. The place seemed empty.

Then she heard it. "Oof...hey, hey, _here_..."

She stood in the kitchen and grinned as Lindsay came calmly out of the hallway, nonchalantly tucking in her shirt. "Hi, Stella!" she said happily.

"Hi yourself," Stella replied with a knowing grin. Lindsay turned tomato red but shrugged it off. "Mac borrowed one of the company trucks to haul stuff from your old place to here. He and Hawkes are waiting downstairs, and Flack said he'd come help when he got off in a couple hours."

"He'll be just in time for dinner," Lindsay frowned.

Stella grinned. "I know. I'm pretty sure he planned it that way." She suppressed a laugh as Danny came into the room. His hair was decidedly disheveled. At least Lindsay had tried to hide it. "Hey. Helping Lindsay unpack?"

Danny coughed. "Uh...Mac downstairs?" he asked quickly. Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared out of the apartment.

When he was gone, the two women exchanged looks. Then they burst out laughing. "Making yourself at home, huh?" Stella teased her.

"Testing out the neighbors," Lindsay replied easily. "No complaints yet!"

* * *

Thee hours later, most of Lindsay's furniture was settled in, and her stove was getting broken in between her and Stella. Salad waited on the table while the men were in the living room trying to put together Lindsay's high definition television. All of them were in to their second beer by now, even Flack, who'd only gotten there a half hour ago. Good natured ribbing abounded about men and electronics.

"All right, guys," Stella said. "Give that thing a break and come eat!"

As they sat there, Flack was the first to bring it up. "This place is a steal, Monroe," he said. "How'd you manage to get so lucky?"

She shrugged. "He said he was having a hard time renting it out. Not sure why."

"I don't see why," Mac Taylor said. "This is about as good as it gets. It's nicer than _my_ place, and I make more money than you."

"Not by much!" Hawkes cut in, and everyone laughed. "Seriously, though," he continued. "What's wrong with it?"

Lindsay shook her head. "I didn't see anything," she said with a glance at Mac, Flack and Danny. "And neither did you guys, right?"

"Just the usual wear and tear," Danny said between bites of risotto. "Plumbing all works, no roaches..._that's _the unusual part," he teased. "Appliances are in good shape...Maybe it's the neighbors or something."

"Well, I'm just glad I got a place closer to work. It beats the train from Tarrytown and listening to Uncle Freddie's snoring," Lindsay said. She glanced around. "Still has a lot of work yet, though."

"Danny'll help you with that," Stella said under her breath.

Only Lindsay caught it, and the two of them started laughing again.

* * *

After everyone else had gone home that night, Danny and Lindsay settled in the living room on a blanket to watch _The Amityville Horror_ (the original, not the lame remake). With Halloween being right around the corner, it seemed only natural that Lindsay's small horror flick collection came out.

"Just think, Montana," Danny whispered into her ear halfway through the movie, "your place coulda been like theirs. My first place outta college was like that."

"Your walls bled?"

"No, wise ass. Just flat out creepy. I swear the place had somethin' else living there."

"You lived in the Bronx; I'm sure it probably _did_," Lindsay shot back.

"Ouch, Uptown Girl. Gosh, a girl gets a place in Manhattan, all of a sudden..."

She hit him with the pillow.

The end of the movie rolled, and Lindsay had to untangle herself from Danny's arms to shut the TV off. Her digital clock read 1:30 a.m. Danny was sound asleep on her floor, and she made a mental note to wake him so he could get to work in six hours. She hit the power button on the television and crawled back to Danny.

* * *

Had she watched the television a split second longer, she would have noticed an image stay even after the set had faded to black. It lingered a moment...and then just like the rest of the screen, faded into darkness.

* * *

**_Author's Note_: Back into a genre I enjoy so much. How'm I doin'? Constructive criticism is usually warranted and always appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO: Curiouser and Curiouser**

She hadn't exactly left Danny standing in the hall wearing nothing but his socks, boxers and motorcycle boots, but the look on his face as she chased him out the next morning, reminding him if he didn't leave Mac would fire him, sure seemed like she had. Until Lindsay promised him dinner again for helping put her place in proper order later that night. Then he kissed her forehead and said "I'll see you later, then, Montana," as he headed for the stairs.

Lindsay closed the door and looked around the apartment, wondering where exactly to start. There was a stack of boxes in the living room and in her bedroom that needed to be put away. Lucky that she had some leave stored so she could put the place together, and not have the only time she was available to work on it be off a midnight shift. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, not bothering to shower. Then she located the box marked "Cleaning Supplies." She tuned her stereo in the living room to a country station that played the Top 40. Then she set about cleaning the living room windows. The last people who'd lived there hadn't done a good job, they were streaked and cloudy.

She was singing along with the song on the radio until she heard a hiss and static. Setting down the Windex, she looked back at the stereo, which was no longer tuned to the country station. Instead, classical strains wafted through the apartment. Lindsay frowned. She went over to the stereo and crouched down, eye level with the machine. Sure enough, the dial had changed. _Must have gotten a loose screw or something during the move_, Lindsay thought. She changed it back to the country station and returned to the window. She picked up the Windex again, turned to the window...and cried out in surprise.

A perfect handprint glittered in the sunlight. She could see ridge detail, five fingers, a full palm... She studied it. Not even at a crime scene had she ever seen such a perfect specimen. "Cool," she said. Then she realized, as she looked down the window, that she could see more, in almost a straight line, down the area she hadn't cleaned yet.

She shook her head. "The people that lived here before me were absolutely terrible housekeepers," she groused. She attacked the palm print with the window cleaner, scrubbing it into oblivion.

* * *

It took her nearly an hour to do just the living room windows, and by then, she had thought up a list of a million other things she needed for the place. The walls, the walls were bare, for example. They needed some color. She also knew there was a little hole-in-the-wall shop down the street that might have some cool furniture for cheap.

She turned the radio off, which had slipped back to the classical station again, and headed for the bathroom to shower. She let the water get nice and hot as she grabbed clothes from her bedroom and a towel. She closed the bathroom door behind her and stepped into the shower. It felt good, considering the workout of the day before. She mulled over dinner ideas as she showered. Finally, though, she stepped out. Toweling herself off, she headed for the vanity where she'd left her clothes. The mirror was steamed over, and it sort of hung in the air as well. "Hmm. Good hot water," Lindsay said aloud as she dressed. She leaned forward and untucked the towel from around her body so she could wipe down the mirror. She took the towel to the mirror, going in a slow circle, just enough so she could see her face. But as she cleared the space...she didn't see only her face!

_Someone was standing behind her_.

Lindsay screamed, grabbing the towel back and wrapping it around herself. She whirled around...but she was alone in the room. She struggled to control her breathing as she stepped out into the hall. The apartment was silent. She moved into her bedroom, reaching for her issued pistol, which was tucked inside a drawer.

She searched the entire apartment. As she searched the kitchen, even going so far as to open the fridge-and then put her gun down and rolled her eyes. "For crying out loud, Lindsay, I seriously doubt he's in there." _Even though you _can_ fit a man inside a fridge_, she thought to herself, thinking of a very boring night shift a couple years ago and a very bored Marty Pino... "That movie must have gotten to me more than I thought," Lindsay said as she returned her gun to the bedroom and finished getting dressed. She grabbed her purse and her keys and locked the door behind her, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator to the ground floor. Passing the small apartment that also doubled as the landlord's office downstairs, she could hear strains of a conversation through the half-cracked door.

"...no, she moved in yesterday. Yeah, I finally filled the place. I told her it was a six-month lease, even though everyone else left inside of a couple days...oh, yeah, they took off like the hounds of Hades were after them...I dunno, we'll see if she stays in there or not. I'm half-tempted to just kick everyone out and raze the building...Hey, it doesn't do me any good to try to rent it out if nobody'll stay there 'cause they think the place is haunted or something..."

She'd heard enough. So _that's_ why she'd gotten such a good deal on the place. He couldn't get anyone else to stay there...why, because they thought it was _haunted_? She shook her head as she checked her mail and stepped outside into the New York City morning. _Ghosts. Please. The only monsters are the people I deal with on a daily basis_, Lindsay thought to herself. She headed down the street, waiting at a crosswalk. As she waited, she started thinking about the events of that morning. _First, the radio station, then the handprints...the person in the bathroom...Oh, come _on_ Monroe!_ she chastised herself as she crossed the street with the crowd. _Ridiculous._

Lindsay Monroe believed that some people were capable of evil acts. She did _not_ believe in ghosts.

All the same, though...maybe some research into her building would be a good idea. She found the little antiques shop she'd been looking for and stepped inside. Right away she spied an end table that would match her couch. She stepped over to it to check the price tag and grinned when she saw it was within her price range. As she stood to go ask for some help (and maybe haggle it down a little), another item caught her from the corner of her eye.

It was a painting of a white horse, its' reflection in the water of the small stream it was drinking out of. Behind it was an old-looking early East Coast settlement, clearly British in origin. The contrast in the tranquility of the animal in the foreground was the smoke and flame coming from the settlement in the background. It was an interesting piece, and Lindsay felt herself drawn to it. She couldn't understand the meaning behind it, and she thought everything in US History up until World War I was kind of pointless, anyway. Yay for the Constitution and the Bill of Rights and all that, but...maybe it was the wigs. The powdered wigs. Or the pointy shoes. Something. But looking at the painting...she suddenly wished she'd paid more attention in history.

"Can I help you, miss?"

The voice of the old guy that ran the store made her jump. "I-what?" she said, shaking her head. "Uh...how much for this?"

* * *

A few moments later, she left Gunther's Antiques with the painting under one arm, and a small lamp in the other. People looked at her funny. This was New York City-who actually carried stuff like that?

She got back to her building and realized she had to pull the door open. She set down the painting, gently, next to her and reached for the handle.

A hand beat her to it. "Here, I got it," someone offered. She looked up to see a good-looking guy-_mid-20s, about six foot even, 170, maybe 180 pounds...Quit profiling the guy, Lindsay!_- standing there, holding the door open. He had dark hair and glasses, and vaguely reminded Lindsay of the computer nerd in the _National Treasure _movies.

"Thanks," Lindsay said, picking up the painting again. She brushed past him and sighed when she saw the OUT OF ORDER sign on the elevator. "Can I give you a hand?" the guy asked her.

Lindsay debated. "Sure, why not," she said. She handed him the lamp. He seemed slightly miffed by receiving the smaller object, but shrugged it off as he followed her upstairs. "My name's McLaren," he said.

"First or last name?" Lindsay questioned from above him.

He chuckled. "Last name," he said. "My first name is Franklin."

"Ah. I would've gone with McLaren, too," Lindsay said. "Do you live here?"

"On thirteen," McLaren replied.

"I'm Lindsay. I live on fifteen."

He rolled his eyes. "At least it ain't the top floor," he said as he stopped for a breather on the landing on five. "You're not from New York."

"Montana," she replied. "Are you coming?"

McLaren started up the stairs after her. "Why are you here?" he asked her.

She chuckled. "I live here," she said. "What's your excuse?"

"No, I get that. I mean, why are you in New York?"

"I work for the Crime Lab," Lindsay explained, pausing on the seventh floor for a rest.

"Sweet!" McLaren pronounced. "That's awesome."

She had to admire his enthusiasm. She also had to admire that he was being persistently nice...expecting to get something out of it. She hit the tenth floor and stopped and looked at him. "McLaren, I have a boyfriend," she said.

He shrugged. "It's cool. I'm not here to invade," he said. "Just helping you get your stuff upstairs. Hey," he said, finally getting his first good look at the painting in her hands. "Wow. That's really rare," he said.

She looked at it. "Really? Guy at the antique store gave it to me for a hundred bucks."

He whistled. "Seriously? Old man didn't know what he had, then."

"What do I have, exactly?"

"There's not really many great American painters," McLaren explained. "Least, not in my opinion. But one of the best was this guy, Defoe."

"Really," Lindsay said, picking up the painting again and starting for the stairs. _Five more to go_...

"Yeah. He lived right here in New York City, too."

"What's so special about him?"

"Early American history is sort of documented, but it's all by paintings. Defoe was one of the premiere guys," McLaren explained. His tone picked up, he sounded excited. _He's a history geek_, Lindsay grinned inwardly. "Defoe painted a lot of early New York, even before it was the capital of the United States. You _did_ know it was the capital city for a while, right?"

She nodded. "Amazingly, I _do_ remember that part."

"Anyway, Defoe painted a bunch of early New York. What you have in your hand, for example, was probably during the British occupation after they kicked out the Dutch. There was a military fort here for a while."

"Finally!" Lindsay breathed as she stood in front of her door. She looked back. The look on McLaren's face was a little sober. "Not you, I'm enjoying the history lesson," she said. "We should talk more about it sometime-"

"Montana!"

Lindsay looked up to see Danny coming down the hall. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, happy to see him, but concerned. She knew he was supposed to be at work.

"One o' the new techs started a fire in the DNA lab," Danny explained. "They evacuated the building. So while they decide what to do with everybody, I figured I'd come visit." It was then that he realized they weren't alone in the hall. "Or am I interrupting something?"

"It's cool," McLaren said. He set down the lamp. "I'm McLaren. I live downstairs," he said. "I was just helpin' her with her stuff. You must be the boyfriend."

"Danny," Danny said by way of introduction.

Awkward silence.

"Yeah, okay. McLaren, thanks for the help. And we really should talk again sometime. Maybe I can resell this sucker for rent money," Lindsay said easily.

He looked horrified by the thought. "Kidding," Lindsay grinned. "Thanks for the help."

McLaren visibly relaxed. "Yeah, not a problem. Nice to meet you both," he said. With a wave, he headed back down the hall for the stairs.

Danny turned to Lindsay.. "All right. Who's the geek?" he demanded.

"He carried my stuff upstairs!" Lindsay said as she pushed open her apartment door. "He lives on thirteen."

"Fine," Danny said, holding his hands up in defeat. "If that's all you say it was."

"It was," Lindsay said as she slid the painting into the living room. "Chill out," she said. She turned around and tugged on his black jacket. "Besides...he's not my type."

"Really...what exactly _is_ your type, Mon-tan-a?" Danny drawled the last three syllables in a low voice, laying his accent on _thick_.

She slid her hands up the jacket and around his shoulders, flicking his jacket off. It slumped to the tile behind him. "What do you want to do with your free time, Messer?" she asked him.

He grinned. "Long as I get to spend it here...doesn't matter."

She grinned back. "Good." She gently pushed him away and headed to her refrigerator. "Heat up the leftovers. I'm hungry."

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm in awe by the response to this story. Thanks so much to all who reviewed and put me on alert! Drop me a line, let me know if you're still liking it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY; they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Here's Chapter Three. (As if that wasn't obvious by the alert you all got.) Hope you like. Constructive criticism is usually warranted and always appreciated.**

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Careful!"

Flack sighed. "It's a picture of a horse, Monroe," he griped. "It's not like it's a Monet or something."

"It's a Defoe," Lindsay shot back. "Be careful with it, anyway." She still couldn't figure out how promising Danny dinner translated into _Flack_ coming over to help put up her newfound treasure...or why he'd somehow talked himself into staying.

Flack looked over at Danny, who winked. Then Flack let go of his corner of the painting. "Whoops!"

Lindsay shrieked, and then hit Flack in the knee as he caught it again. "I hate you."

"Good, 'cause I think Angell would kick your ass if it was the other," Flack replied.

"Yeah, and then I'd kick yours," Danny said as he carefully attached the painting to the wall. "Speakin' of, how's that goin', anyway? This look even to you?"

"Straight," Lindsay replied, and the guys climbed down.

Flack rubbed his palms on his jeans before answering Danny's question. "It's going...good, I guess."

"You 'guess'?" Lindsay teased as the three of them settled in the living room; Danny and Lindsay on the couch, Flack in a bird's nest chair by the windows.

"I'm still gettin' a feel for it," Flack responded. "Datin' a coworker."

"Just wait 'til you end up in the same squad car," Danny replied. "With you two...we'll see how much there is to 'feel' out."

Flack grinned that smile only men can come up with. "You're a sick man, Messer...but you may not be totally wrong," he said slyly. "For your information, we've already _been_ in the same squad car."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. Then she turned serious. "So...I overheard my landlord talking today..."

"Lenny?" Danny asked, having performed a full background workup on the guy.

"Yeah...Lenny was in his office, talking to someone about my apartment."

Flack frowned. "There somethin' wrong with it?" he asked. He looked at Danny. "Something we missed?"

"Structurally, no," Lindsay admitted. "Spiritually, though..."

Danny looked at her. "Huh?"

Lindsay twisted a lock of hair between her fingers. "Apparently...the reason that my place was such a bargain is because nobody else would rent it...on account of the fact that..." she sighed.

"Spill, Lindsay," Flack said from his chair. "On account of what?"

"People think the place is haunted," Lindsay said in a rush.

It took Danny a moment to comprehend... "Ghosts. Seriously?"

Lindsay nodded. "Lenny said everybody else has left inside of a couple days, scared to death."

Flack rolled his eyes. "It's probably an oversized rat," he said. "Or a Staten Island-sized roach."

"Montana, you don't believe him, do ya?" Danny asked her.

She shook her head. "No!...I mean...no, ghosts aren't real." She purposely dodged the strange incident in her bathroom that morning. _Someone was in my bathroom...oh, that'll send Danny over the edge._ And the prints in the window, which, now that she thought about it, seemed strategically placed. And the radio...

"We should look this place over again," Flack decided, turning to Danny. "Just to make sure nothing was missed the first time around."

_Which is fine,_ Lindsay thought. _But if it's a ghost, you won't be able to _see_ the problem anyway..._

* * *

Lindsay was sound asleep in her bedroom when she heard the floorboards in the next room creak. Her eyes snapped open, adjusting slowly to the darkness. She froze in bed, listening. Waiting.

There it was again. Someone was definitely walking around in the other room. Lindsay reached for her gun, which was in the drawer of her nightstand. She sat up in bed, clicking the safety off. Her fingers grasped her pager, and she buzzed Danny, who she knew was probably at home sleeping, but knew he'd be there in a heartbeat. She carefully eased open her bedroom door, thankful for the WD-40 she'd put on it earlier. She padded slowly down the hall, and paused.

Whoever it was, they were still, now. Not moving. And then Lindsay heard something glass crash against the wall.

She threw on the living room light. "Hold it right there!" she yelled, drawing a bead on the intruder.

Or where the intruder _should_ have been. There was no one standing in her living room.

* * *

Lindsay tore apart her apartment, _again, _which didn't take long, considering it was nice and small (and she'd already done this once before), and couldn't find a single sign of forced entry, or a single sign that anyone was in the apartment aside from herself. The only sign of something unusual were the broken pieces of glass on her carpet. Once, it had been a blown-glass rose from Danny. Now, it was shards of pale pink.

Keys scraped in her door, and Danny Messer burst through. "Montana?" he called. She could hear the panic in his voice. Actually, she was surprised he didn't kick in the door. "_Lindsay!_"

"Danny, I'm in here."

She heard him come running. "Montana?" He looked around, saw the glass on the floor. He crossed the room in two strides and immediately pulled her into his arms, looked her over. "Are you all right? What happened?"

She looked at him. "There was someone in my place," she said. "Someone was in _here_, I heard them."

The detective took over. She watched him look at the windows, the door... "No signs of entry," Danny noted. He looked at her, confused.

"No," Lindsay said. She pushed his hands off her waist. "Don't even think about saying it."

He raised his hands. "I didn't-"

"You're thinking it. I did _not_ imagine this, Danny!" she told him staunchly. "There was someone in here." She pointed at the glass. "How do you explain that?" she asked him, daring him to say what she knew he was going to.

"Montana...we both know that shelf's not the sturdiest thing."

She threw her hands in the air. "I bet if you take this to the lab, Adam'll tell you it was thrown."

Danny shrugged. "That's hard to prove," he said finally.

"I _heard _it hit the _wall!_"

"Lindsay-"

"Damn it, Danny. Someone was in here tonight."

"What do you want me to do? Get my kit and process for ectoplasm? It's two in the morning. When you paged me...God, Montana, I thought I was gonna come in here and-"

"And what?" Lindsay scoffed. "Find McLaren standing over my dead body with a bloody history book?"

His eyes clouded. "That was low, Lindsay."

She knew it. But she was too mad to care. "Just...just go home, Danny. I'm sorry I ever paged you. I'll see you at work."

"Linds-"

"Just go." Lindsay knelt onto the floor and began picking up the bigger pieces of glass. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

She saw Danny stand there for a while, then heard his footsteps across the kitchen tile. The door opened and closed again.

Lindsay picked up the glass and threw it away. Then, her eyes red brimmed, she went into her living room. "All right," she yelled into the empty space. "Listen up. I don't know who the hell you are or what the hell you want, but either you show yourself right now or I swear to God I will call in the closest Catholic priest and I will _exorcise_ your translucent ass."

She didn't get a response. And felt very stupid for yelling at nothing in the middle of her living room. Thoroughly annoyed, frustrated, and very sad for what she'd done to Danny, Lindsay shut off the lights and went back to bed.

* * *

She missed the ruffle of the curtains in her living room. Missed the someone that bent down to look at the glass on the floor, and whispered, "I apologize," in a soft, whispery tone.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Work was hell the next day.

Mac, of course, didn't know that the two were currently on the outs, and so assigned them to work a scene together. Aside from a few terse, "Want me to photograph?" and "Here, bag this," there wasn't much talk between the two. Lindsay was too stubborn to apologize, and Danny was too stubborn to _ask_ her to apologize, or to apologize himself.

It was a fact that Sid Hammerback noticed right away as they brought the body down to the medical examiner's office. One glance and he could tell the two were fighting. The two of them thought they were sneaky about hiding their feelings, but it was so easy sometimes to read the two of them like the front page of the _New Yorker. _He wouldn't say anything, though. That is, until Danny made some excuse to go back upstairs, leaving Lindsay downstairs with the eccentric examiner.

"Is everything okay with you and Danny?" Sid asked her finally. She looked like she needed to talk to someone about something.

She looked up at him, embarrassed to have someone call them on it. "I...we had a fight," she said.

"What about?" Sid asked automatically, and then sighed. "No, I'm sorry, Lindsay, I'm butting in where I don't belong."

"It's all right," Lindsay said. She bit her bottom lip. Then she asked, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Yes," Sid said simply. The answer surprised Lindsay.

"Why?"

"There's simply too much documented evidence to suggest otherwise," Sid explained.

"But science doesn't-"

Sid gave her a smile. "Science can't explain everything, Lindsay," he said. "I'm curious, though," he said, tugging his glasses off. "Why do you ask?" He clipped the glasses around his neck.

"Oh, no reason," Lindsay said. "Just something my landlord said the other day."

"Ah, Lenny," Sid said, and Lindsay raised an eyebrow. "I talked with Hawkes about him and the background test he and Danny subjected him to," Sid said by way of explanation.

"Anyway, he said he couldn't get anyone to rent my apartment because they thought the place was haunted," Lindsay finished in a rush. She laughed. "But, I mean, that's ridiculous."

Sid only shook his head. "Have you tried contacting the spirit?"

Lindsay couldn't believe she was having this conversation. "What? What, like a seance or something?"

He smiled. "You've seen too many horror movies, Lindsay," he said. "Just talk to it. Assure it you're not there to harm it or get in its way. Ask what it wants. Ask why it's there. You might be surprised what you learn from it."

Lindsay shook her head. "You surprise me every time I see you, Sid," she said with a smile. "Let me know when you've got a COD on our girl here," she added.

"Lindsay, if you wouldn't mind," Sid called behind her. She turned. "When you get a chance to talk with your...roommate, will you let me know what you find out?" He looked like a kid at Christmas- expecting some huge surprise present to come from another room or from behind the tree at any moment.

She paused, debating how to respond. "Sure." As she walked away, all she could do was shake her head. Scientific, practical Sid Hammerback wanted her to talk to a dead guy. Girl. Thing. Whatever.

_My world is officially messed up_, she thought as she came upstairs. She headed into DNA to do a workup on some skin trace underneath their vic's fingernails. With any luck, they'd get a hit in CODIS, and the case would be a fast one. She prepared a sample to put in the system.

"Lindsay."

The sound of her own name was enough to make her jump sky-high. She looked over to see Adam Ross standing next to her. He looked apologetic. "Sorry. You all right?"

"Fine, Adam, thanks," Lindsay replied. "Did you get anything off our vic's clothes?"

He nodded. "Yeah, unknown female blood. Not hers." He peered at her sample. "Running it through CODIS?"

"Just about to," she said as she turned on the machine.

"You going to the office Halloween party?" Adam asked her.

She blinked, and gave him a funny look. "Where did _that_ come from?" Then she noticed the look on his face. It was a cross between 'Help me!' and 'I'm a nervous wreck.' "Yeah, I forgot about it, but I plan on going, why?"

He looked around. Then he looked back at Lindsay, who had an amused smile on her face. "Is Kendall going?" Lindsay asked him point blank.

Adam turned bright red. "Maybe," he admitted.

"And so?"

He thought about it. "Maybe I should offer to meet her there?"

"It's a good start. Maybe you could ask her about going together as a pair of something," Lindsay suggested. _Geez. First Sid, now this. My life really is screwed up_. "You want to keep an eye on this for me? My shift is over. Call me, let me know what you find."

Adam's mind was somewhere else. "No problem."

"Hey, quit picturing Kendall as the Playboy Bunny and pay attention to that sample," Lindsay said.

"Actually, I was thinking female pirate- eyepatch, tight dress, maybe a corset-"

"Adam!" she groaned. "I can_not_ know that!" She stepped out into the hall, and ran directly into Danny. Her eyes caught his for a moment.

"Montana-" Danny started, but Lindsay brushed by him and headed for the stairs.

* * *

She took a long shower that night. It felt good. She knew eventually she was going to have to apologize to Danny, but pride wouldn't let her. She knew there was something strange happening at her place. Unfortunately, she couldn't prove it. Short of calling in those guys on TV- the ghost hunters with their own cable show- she didn't know what to do. _Maybe McLaren would have some ideas_, she thought as she stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel and went back into her room to get ready for bed. She had just stepped in front of her dresser when she felt it. A sudden shift in the air pressure in the room.

"I am ready to talk to you now," a voice said. A decidedly male voice.

Lindsay swore, jerked, and spun around. The room was empty. "You _did_ wish to speak to me, did you not?" the voice asked again, sounding slightly annoyed...and maybe a little amused.

_Holy sh-_ Lindsay instinctively wrapped her arms around her towel-clad self. She snatched the first pair of pajamas from her drawer. "I...uh..." _What do I say? What do I _do?! "Can I at least put some clothes on first?" she asked the room finally.

There was a pause. Then, "Ah...yes. Of course." The voice sounded...embarrassed?

"O...okay. Just, um...stay in here."

Lindsay fled the room and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. "Good one, Monroe. Lock the door," she muttered as she hastily switched clothes. "This is _ridiculous!_"

And yet...Sid's words echoed in her ear. And she realized...a small part of her was_ dying_- "Bad choice in thinking, Lindsay," she chided herself- to know what precisely was going on.

Then she looked down. And noticed that the pajamas she'd picked out was a decidedly slinky number. Stella had given it to her last year for her birthday as a gag gift, but it was pretty comfortable. She rolled her eyes. "This just keeps getting better and better," she sighed.

Cautiously, she opened the bathroom door and went across the hall into her room. She jumped into bed and pulled the comforter up to her chest. "I...uh...a-are you still here?" she asked the room.

She felt the subtle shift in air pressure again, and watched as the figure materialized in front of her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY, they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Yay for the Season 5 premiere this week! And a longer chapter for you, in which we finally meet our ghost!**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

He was good looking. That was the first thing she noticed. He had longer brown hair that curled near his ears. If Lindsay had to compare him to someone, she'd have to go with Hugh Jackman in _Kate and Leopold_, though better looking. And considering Lindsay held Hugh in high regards, that was saying something. His eyes were a striking shade of blue- not like the sky blue of Danny's, more like cobalt, like the depths of the sea blue. He stood about six-one, a few inches taller than Danny. He was wearing a plain, white, cotton shirt that laced up at the front, but was wide open now. He wore a simple pair of brown pants and high brown boots. He had some muscle.

He studied her for the longest time. "It appears," he said finally, speaking in a low, cultured accent, "that women have not changed much in two hundred years."

"Excuse me?" Lindsay found herself asking.

"They still find it necessary to change their mind on the drop of a hat," he replied. "For instance, last night you demanded that I appear to you, and yet tonight when I do, you are unhappy that I have done so."

"Look, buddy, you don't just walk in on a woman with no clothes on," Lindsay shot back. _I'm arguing with a dead man._ "Pretty sure _that_ little bit of decorum hasn't died in two hundred years."

He considered her point. "Point taken," he said finally. "I believe there would have been much the same reaction then," he admitted.

"Uh huh, fascinating. _What in the _hell_ are you doing in my apartment_?" Lindsay demanded.

"In time," he promised. "In the meantime...might I have your name?"

"What?" Lindsay frowned, off-guard. "I-um, Lindsay. Lindsay Monroe."

"Miss Monroe," he said, and bowed slightly. "My name is Callan. Callan Doyle Flynn."

"Hi," Lindsay said. It was all she could say. This was _way_ too random for her. And then happenings of the night before surfaced in her memory, and she got out of bed and stood toe-to-toe with him. It would have been a funny sight to walk in on-the eighteenth-century man, who, if you looked close enough, you could see the other side of the room through him, and twenty-first century Lindsay Monroe, who stood about three inches shorter than him and was wearing a purple silk Victoria's Secret number. "What the _hell_ happened last night?" she demanded. "You threw my rose, I know you did!"

To her surprise, the amused smile on Callan's face faded and was replaced by an apologetic frown. "I am sorry for that," he explained. "Your painting...it took me by surprise."

"What's that got to do with wrecking my flower?"

He sighed, and turned away from her, looking out the bedroom window. "Because, the scene in that painting...I was there." He looked at her. "I lived it."

It wasn't the answer Lindsay had been expecting. It threw her. She returned to her bed and sat down, ignoring the covers. "You were there?"

Callan nodded. His gorgeous eyes clouded over. "I'm sorry," Lindsay said. "It must have really surprised you to see it there, huh."

"I couldn't get a good look at it when your friends were putting it up. And I didn't want to risk being seen."

"And yet, here you are," Lindsay said. "Why tonight?"

He looked at her. "Because you're the first person to not be afraid of me," he said. "And because you asked me to show myself...and because I believe you can help me."

"With what?" Lindsay frowned. "I'm no ghost hunter."

His eyes flashed. "I've dealt with my fair share of those through the years here."

She bit her lower lip. "Sorry."

"It's all right. No, I need you to help me..." he looked around the room and spread his arms. "I need to know why I am still here."

Lindsay looked at him. "You don't know?"

He shook his head. A piece of his hair fell into his eyes. He tucked it away, a move that made Lindsay's heart jump. _You gotta be kidding me_... "I do not," he admitted. Then he smiled. "If you're not too afraid of me...please?" His eyes bored into hers.

"Sure," Lindsay heard herself saying. "I can try."

Callan's smile returned. He had perfect teeth...well, for the eighteenth-century. He bowed again. "Then I shall speak to you again." With that, he faded from view.

Lindsay sat in silence for a few moments. Was he gone? "Hey...Callan?" she asked to the room. "Stay out of my bathroom from now on, okay?"

From somewhere in the apartment, she heard someone laughing.

* * *

It was the first time she'd slept well since moving into her apartment. When she woke up the next morning, she felt well-rested. Maybe it was the fact that she knew she wasn't going crazy, she wasn't sure, but it didn't matter, because she woke up in a _very_ good mood.

_And I need to talk to Danny_. As she showered, she thought over the situation. Really, the only way to settle this was to see if Callan could maybe show himself to Danny. She'd seen the movies, she knew that it hardly ever worked that way. But Callan wanted help. And she could use the extra help. And she was tired of the stress that came with fighting with Danny.

Mac paired her with Stella working on the case from the day before. Adam's search had gotten nothing from CODIS, so Lindsay and Stella focused on security footage from an ATM across the street from the scene. Stella caught on right away that there was something different with her friend today, and called her on it. "You're in a good mood," she probed.

Lindsay nodded as she rewound the footage. "Yeah, I am," she said agreeably.

"So what's the occasion?" Stella grabbed her left hand and turned it over. "I don't see a ring..."

Lindsay jerked her hand away and flushed. "That's cute, Stella. Can't I just be in a good mood?" She changed the conversation. "Are you going to the Halloween party?" she asked her.

Stella nodded. She could tell Lindsay didn't want to discuss anything, which was fine. She made a mental note to ask Hawkes later-he seemed to know everything. "Yeah. You?"

Lindsay nodded. "Any idea what you're going as?"

Stella grinned. "I found this great costume downtown. I'm picking it up after work."

"Oooh, what is it?" Lindsay asked her.

Stella changed her mind in an instant. The curiosity was killing her. Now was the perfect opportunity to get Lindsay to talk. "Oh no. You first!"

_Damn it._ She knew she wasn't getting out of it. "The really good news is that...I finally got my entire apartment put together. You have _no_ idea how good it feels to have it all put together and everything figured out." There. That was partially true.

Stella considered it. "My costume-"

_Hallelujah_.

"-is a _very_ slinky black cat," Stella explained. Lindsay gushed and oohed in all the right places as Stella described her costume. Then she made sure to get the address of the place Stella'd found her costume so she could check it out as well. And then she told Stella about Adam and Kendall, and the two of them were laughing so hard that Lindsay's original dodging of the question was forgotten.

Lindsay hoped.

* * *

When Danny came into the locker room at the end of his shift to put his piece away, there was a Post-It note on the door. _Danny. I'm sorry. Dinner at my place tonight?_ –_L_

He decided it would be a good idea. He hated fighting with her. He shouldn't have blown up at her the other night, something he needed to tell her in person. He checked his watch, and realized if he just showered and changed at the lab, he'd make it to her place in less time than if he went home first.

* * *

Lindsay checked her watch. Danny had gotten off work a half hour ago, and she hadn't heard anything from him. She would've asked him in person to come over, but she hadn't seen him the entire day. Apparently, he and Hawkes had been stuck out in Queens for the majority of the day due to an accident on the bridge. She double-checked the chicken in the oven and made sure she'd stuck the beer in her fridge. Tonight was definitely a Danny night.

She looked around her apartment. Lights were blazing, and the sun was just starting to set. "Hey...Callan? I don't know if you can hear me or what...I have a friend of mine coming over tonight for dinner."

It felt really weird to be talking to nobody in her apartment.

"Anyway, I think Danny can help me figure out why you're living in my apartment and not paying rent, so...maybe once it gets dark and dinner's done...I could introduce him to you." She stopped, waiting for a response. The place was dead quiet. _No pun intended_.

Then she felt it. That shift in the air. But when she looked around, there was no sign of Callan Doyle anywhere. "Are you in here?" she asked.

No answer.

"Look, I know usually ghosts don't show themselves to a bunch of people, 'cause they don't trust them or whatever...but you can trust Danny. He's a detective, just like me. Maybe between the two of us we can figure something out for you." Lindsay stirred her vegetables and continued rambling. "I don't know if you saw him over here the other night, he's the blonde with the glasses and the motorcycle jacket. He thinks I'm crazy, you know. And it's all because of you, actually. Yeah, when you threw my rose into the wall the other night, I called him over, I'm sure you heard us fight. He doesn't believe in ghosts, and neither did I, you know, til I met you the other night. So in a way, you sort of owe me. So do me a favor, okay, and please show up tonight?" She sighed. "Because I don't think I can handle fighting with Danny for much longer."

"I don't like it either, Montana."

Lindsay whirled. Danny was leaning in her doorway, her spare apartment key dangling from his hand. "I knocked," he said. "You didn't answer."

She was happy he'd shown up. She was _mad_ he'd caught her talking to seemingly herself. "How long have you been standing there?" she demanded.

He looked around the apartment. "Long enough," he admitted uncomfortably. "So...what's for dinner?"


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

You would have needed a chain saw to cut through the thick tension in Lindsay's Monroe kitchen. Lindsay was standing at the stove, one hand stirring vegetables, and the other on her hip. She was sure her face was as red as the peppers in her veggie mix.

Danny Messer was leaned against the door frame, fingers hooked through his belt loops. Lindsay couldn't read the look on his face.

For a while, neither one of them said a word. Finally, Danny coughed. "So...whatever you're makin' smells amazing."

"It's just ribeyes and mixed veggies," Lindsay said slowly.

Danny nodded. "You know how I love my red meat."

"Yeah. I figured."

Awkward silence.

"Can...ah, can I come in?"

"Sure. Throw your jacket in the living room."

He ditched his motorcycle boots and tossed his leather jacket in the mushroom chair before returning to the kitchen. "You got most of the glass cleaned up, huh?"

"Yeah. Not sure how well I vacuumed, though, so be careful." She couldn't resist. "By the way, I found pieces of glass halfway across the room."

"Montana-" Danny began, but Lindsay held up a hand.

"I'm sorry. That was low. I shouldn't have said it." She stirred the vegetables with a little more force than she should have.

She didn't realize he was right up behind her until he said, "I deserved it." She started, and a piece of lettuce went flying into the sink. She felt his hands on her shoulders, and she instantly relaxed. He was like a walking massage, or acupuncture or morphine or something. "I get this message from you in the middle of the night, you think someone broke into your place...I broke every traffic law to get to your place. And then I get here, and you're fine, but you're telling me that something science says doesn't exist has vandalized your place..." Danny sighed and put his hands around her waist, burying his head in her neck. "I was so relieved you were okay that I kinda flipped out, I guess."

Lindsay snorted. "Hmm, _kinda_," she agreed with him. "What bothered me the most, Danny, was that you didn't believe me. Or trust me. Do you think I'm having a tryst with McLaren two floors down? He's a sweet kid, _kid_ being the operative word." She turned around in his grip so she was facing him with his arms still around her waist. "Have a little faith in me, Danny."

He gazed directly into her eyes. "I do." He grinned. "And I'd like to make it up to you."

_Oh God._ Lindsay hadn't even thought about it 'til now that maybe Callan had been _watching_ the day she and Danny had "christened" her new place. She turned beet red, making a mental note to bring that up with Callan when Danny _wasn't_ around. "Yeah, okay, cowboy, we'll work on that later," she said. "Help me get dinner ready."

The fight was forgiven.

* * *

"So what are we doing for the Halloween party?" Lindsay asked Danny as he helped her rinse dishes and put them away after dinner.

He frowned. "I dunno; _are_ we doing something?"

"Stella gave me the name of this really awesome Halloween shop downtown," Lindsay explained. "I think it'd be fun to go in costume, and even more fun if we matched."

"Lindsay, I am _not_ wearing a plug in and you wearing the outlet."

She handed him a pot. "I hope _not_," she said staunchly. "Those things are _so_ lame." She grinned as she shut off the water and wiped her hands dry. "I'd personally love to see you in a pair of Wranglers and a Stetson."

He set the pot on the counter and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah? And you'd come with me in a saloon girl dress with one of those feathered headband things and a real tiny waist?"

"Well, I sure as hell wouldn't go as Tonto!" Lindsay said as she led him into the living room.

"Why not? You'd look sexy as all get out in that outfit from the Disney version of _Pocahontas_," Danny replied, sitting down next to her.

"Too stereotypical," Lindsay replied. "Maybe I'll take Angell shopping with me. We'll find something that'll drive the two of you wild, make all the boys in the lab jealous."

Danny sucked in a breath. "Aw, hell, Montana." He grinned. "So...about me apologizing for earlier..."

Lindsay grimaced. "Hold that thought," she said. She took a few deep breaths and stood up. "Actually, I'm kinda glad you brought it up," she said.

He frowned. "What?"

"Remember what Lenny was saying about my place? That the reason nobody stays in here long is because-"

"Casper the Friendly Ghost snores in his sleep," Danny cut in. "Lindsay-"

"Danny, it's true."

He blinked. "Casper snores?"

She rolled her eyes. "No!" She started pacing. "The other night...I...he..."

Danny jumped to his feet. _"He?"_ he demanded.

Her eyes flashed. "Danny. _Sit._"

The tone of her voice scared him. He'd never heard it before. Not since they'd first met and he couldn't quit teasing her. He sat.

Lindsay brushed her hair from her eyes. "Just...I...oh, for crying out loud." She stopped pacing. "Hey...Callan? Are you in here?"

"Callan?" Danny stood up again. "Montana, what in the hell is going on here?"

"I would believe that this is why most apparitions choose to reveal themselves to only one person," a male voice spoke up from somewhere in the room.

Danny froze. All the color drained from his face. He stood stock still, one hand frozen reaching for the gun he knew wasn't on his belt.

Lindsay let out her breath. "Danny, I'd like you to meet Callan Doyle Flynn."

Callan shimmered into view off to Lindsay's left, near the window. He bowed slightly in Danny's direction. "A pleasure," he offered. "If you are a friend of Miss Lindsay's, then I believe I can trust you."

Lindsay watched Danny intently. To start, he picked his jaw up off the floor. The second thing he did was walk over to Callan, proceeding to study him like a piece of trace under a microscope. Callan stood perfectly still, watching Danny with interest.

"Danny," Lindsay prompted. "Say something."

Danny didn't. He looked at the window, the walls, the TV. "If you're looking for that hidden projector, Scooby Doo, it's not there," Lindsay said, starting to smile. She had to give him credit; he appeared to be taking this very well.

When he took his hand and ran it through Callan's shoulder, the ghost frowned. "I _beg_ your pardon," he protested.

Danny stood up ramrod straight, like he'd been shot. He looked at Callan. Then he looked at Lindsay.

"You have my attention," he told her.

* * *

**Author's Note: You all have NO idea how hard this chapter was to write, and I apologize for it being short. I tried to think how Danny would react, he didn't seem the type to pass out or anything, so...yeah. Constructive criticism is usually warranted and always appreciated. Oh, and you could PM me with costume suggestions for everyone at the office Halloween party, which WILL get written. Except Stella's a cat. Everyone else you get to pick. Danny, Lindsay, Flack, Angell, Adam, Kendall, Sid, Hawkes, the whole caboodle. Try to keep 'em clean, though, is my only request.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY" they are property of Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Not particularly happy with this chapter. Still fleshing out Callan's backstory. But what happened in this chapter had to happen, so...**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Lindsay sat down on the couch. And she couldn't resist, "Do you believe me now?"

Danny nodded mutely. He sat down next to her and she put her hand in his.

"You are the Daniel in all the pictures," Callan noted. "I apologize about the rose you gave Miss Lindsay. I'm afraid that when I got a good look at her new piece of artwork...I was quite surprised." To Lindsay's surprise, he flushed. _Didn't think ghosts could blush._ Briefly, she wondered what Mac Taylor would say in this situation.

"You were there or something?" Danny asked.

Callan nodded. "I was."

"Did you die in the fire? Is that why you're still here?" Lindsay noticed the investigator was taking over-Danny was getting that tone he usually got with pain in the ass suspects.

The gentleman ghost shook his head. "No." He sighed, studying the painting again. He pointed to the fort. "I was part of the American detachment that burned it to the ground."

Danny frowned. "Your accent is definitely _not_ American," he said.

Callan laughed. "You are correct; I am most definitely _not_ an American." He returned his gaze to the painting. "I was a British spy, obtaining information for the American revolutionaries."

Lindsay's jaw dropped. "Did they find you out?" she asked.

Callan processed that, then shook his head. "No. The Americans paid me too well for that," he said with a cheeky smile. "No, as it happens, the war ended, and I lived in New York for some time after, until I died."

"I don't get it," Danny said. "Ghosts usually stick around 'cause there's something holding them back, or they don't know their dead."

"I can assure you, I realize I am dead. This-" Callan said, sweeping his arm around- "is most definitely _not_ how I remember things being." He sounded a bit miffed at Danny's observations of the paranormal.

"So if you're not movin' on because you don't know you're dead," Danny said, standing, "then it's gotta be from something else. Unfinished business!" he said triumphantly, looking at Lindsay.

"Nice work, Casper," Lindsay said, rolling her eyes. She looked at Callan. "Any ideas? Something you didn't accomplish in life that you're forced to do before you can move on?"

To her surprise (seemed to be a lot of that going around), Callan's beautiful eyes clouded over, and his gaze turned unfocused, as if he was remembering something.

"Callan?" Lindsay asked.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could say anything, Lindsay's door burst open, causing both detectives to jump. Callan disappeared from view like a rubber band snapping back-Lindsay swore she even heard a pop as the shift in air pressure happened. Lindsay and Danny both turned to see McLaren sprawled just inside the doorway.

Blood seeped from his chest onto Lindsay's new tile. "McLaren!" Lindsay sprinted to the door as Danny recovered enough to call 911.

* * *

"I think we need to have a talk with Lenny again," Flack said, his hand in the hand of Jennifer Angell as they stepped off the elevator at Queen of Mercy.

"Lindsay's landlord?" Jennifer questioned.

Flack nodded, wondering exactly how many people in New York City had heard about Lenny. "Lenny told us that place was a hundred percent safe."

"Do we know what happened yet?" Jennifer asked as they rounded the corner.

"No, but-Hey, Danny!" Flack called out to his friend. Danny and Lindsay were talking with a doctor outside one of the rooms.

Danny left Lindsay with the doctor as he came down. "Two of you came dressed for a party," he noted, looking at Flack's suit and tie and Angell's little black dress.

"Yeah, funny thing," Flack said, "we're standin' at the Met and all of a sudden I get a phone call."

"And forgot to put the phone on silent," Angell cut in with a grin. "I thought the preppy crowd was gonna massacre us right there."

"Sorry," Danny said, "but as it was an attempted homicide, and well, you're the only homicide detective I know-"

"Save it, Messer, you owe me big time," Flack held up a hand. "So what the hell happened?"

_What hasn't happened tonight_? Danny thought to himself. "Lindsay's friend is in there with two stab wounds to the chest. Couldn't have been the brightest criminal mastermind, he missed all the important stuff."

"Lucky guy," Flack noted.

"Maybe our boy surprised a robber?" Angell wondered.

"Not sure, and we won't for a while, McLaren just got out of surgery and he's doped pretty good," Lindsay explained as she came up to them. She ran a hand through Danny's arm and squeezed his hand. "Mac sent Hawkes and Stella to his apartment, and I'm sure they'll need a statement from me and Danny." Neither one of them mentioned the third witness to McLaren's entrance.

"Maybe it's your ghost, Monroe," Flack said suddenly.

"He's not dangerous," Lindsay said automatically, then realized what she'd just said.

Angell raised an eyebrow. She looked at Flack. "I missed something," she said.

"Hey, I know this seems like a bad time, but do the two of you know what you're wearing to the Halloween party?" Danny cut in. Lindsay squeezed his hand again gratefully. "'Cause Montana and I are clueless right now."

Angell looked at Flack as she snaked a hand around his waist. "Oh, we know," she said playfully.

Danny looked at Flack, who was turning a little red behind the ears. "Care to share with the class, Jen?" he asked her.

"You'll just have to fantasize," Flack replied.

"There's a visual I _don't _need," Danny shot back. "Last image I want is you in leather and cat ears."

Angell glanced up at Flack. "I like the leather idea," she teased him.

"And on that note," Flack said, "think I'll head over to Lindsay's place and see what's up with our attempted murder." He rolled his eyes. "Geez, can't you people stay on track?"

"Bite me, Flack," Danny said. "Call us when you know something."

* * *

Angell followed Flack to the elevator. As the door closed behind them, she tilted her head back and got right next to his ear. "Actually, you as Dracula would be sexy as hell."

"I like our first idea better," he said as his lips met hers. "Maybe we skip goin' to the crime scene?"

Angell nodded. "Yeah, I like that idea," she whispered in his ear. Then, as the elevator doors opened onto the main floor, she stepped off the elevator and grinned. "I gotta get out of this dress anyway."

* * *

**Author's Note: Will Flack and Angell actually skip out on Mac's orders (technically he's not their boss, but well...y'know... :)? And what exactly are they wearing to this Halloween party? I love the ideas I've been gettin' from all of you-they're excellent. Still taking suggestions, Hawkes, Sid and Mac's lists are a little small...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hope a longer chapter makes up for my absence. Enjoy.**

**C****HAPTER EIGHT**

"It's got all the signs of a burglary," Hawkes noted as he set his kit down just inside McLaren's door. Stella Bonasera stayed in the hallway, processing the frame, welcome mat and general hall area. Hawkes looked around the apartment. Maps were tacked the all the available wall space, some with thumbtacks pegging points of interest. He ran his hand over a couple of leather-bound tomes on McLaren's kitchen table. "Most of these are early US history," he noted. "Specifically, two of these are early New York."

"Lindsay told me he's a history major at Chelsea," Stella said, spotting a blood trail leading to the stairs.

"It is close to midterms," Hawkes replied. He shook his head. "I don't know what anyone in this place would be after. If this is organized, it only makes sense to McLaren." Then he spotted the worn bookbag under the table. He picked it up, rummaged through it. "Franklin McLaren," he said, finding McLaren's student ID. "What's so important in here that someone would go to all this trouble?"

* * *

Stella followed the blood trail all the way to Lindsay's apartment two floors higher. There was no doubt this belonged to McLaren. Mac had offered to process the currently-unconscious McLaren at the hospital, promising to call if he got anything. Stella stopped outside Lindsay's door, smiling inwardly. _He offered to process because it gives him something other than the office Halloween party to think about_, she thought. Mac hated Halloween. He especially hated the dressing-up bit. It was a pity he was outweighed by everyone on his staff.

Maybe he'd like it, appreciate it, when Stella showed up in her costume. Oh, and she'd also bet him twenty bucks to dress up. Stella used her spare key (she was pretty sure she wasn't the only one with a spare; Danny _had_ to have one) to let herself into Lindsay's apartment. She made a mental note that once she'd finished processing, she needed to get the blood off the kitchen floor. As she studied the door frame, the hair on the back of her neck tingled.

She stopped, looking around. She couldn't see anyone, but years of training told her she was for certainly being watched. She drew her gun and proceeded to search the apartment. Her search led her to the living room, where the feeling of being watched grew stronger, even though there was nowhere in the room to hide, even if someone wanted to. She turned, saw the painting above Lindsay's TV. _Huh. _She made another mental note to have Hawkes come look at it. The feeling she was being watched grew stronger...the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up..._someone was right behind her_...

"Stella?"

The sound of her own name made her jump out of her skin. She turned to the front door, where Flack and Angell were standing. Angell's hair was a mess, like someone had ran their hands through it several times. Then she noticed the decidedly pink tinge to Flack's cheeks. _Cripes_, she thought. _Anybody I work with _not_ getting any_? "Hey, guys."

"What's goin' on, Stel?" Flack asked her seriously.

She looked around the room, down to her gun, and back to Flack. "I...nothing. Just making sure there's nobody here."

Flack snorted, and Angell shot him a Look. Stella looked at the two of them. "What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Angell replied. "So, what do we know?"

* * *

When Lindsay Monroe awoke the next morning, she was not in her apartment. This was evidenced by the New York Giants fleece blanket tucked near her chin, and the distinct smell of Danny Messer's cologne. _God, does that smell amazing_, Lindsay thought as she lay in his bed, trying to wake up. Then she smelled it. Mixed with his cologne. It was him...and maple syrup. She smiled as she got up, threw her clothes on from the night before, and tiptoed into the kitchen.

Danny was singing along with Coldplay, barefoot in a pair of jeans, his dog tags dangling over the stove. Lindsay sidled up behind him and snaked her arms around his waist. "Good morning," she said.

He grinned. "Mornin' yourself," he said. "What time do you work today?"

"Eight," she said. "What time is it now?"

"Seven."

She frowned. "Glad I have spare clothes in my locker at work," she said. "Since I think my place is still a crime scene." Her mind drifted to the events of the night before, and briefly, she wondered how Callan was doing.

"He spent the last two hundred-plus nights alone, I'm sure it was no problem last night," Danny said with a chuckle.

She flushed, unaware she'd spoken out loud. "Did Mac-"

"He didn't call. My guess was he knew you needed sleep, figured it could wait 'til this mornin' at the office," Danny explained, flipping a pancake onto a plate next to a pile of scrambled eggs. "Eat," he commanded with a smile.

She took the plate and rummaged in his drawers for utensils. Then she raided the fridge for the cranberry juice she knew he kept in there...right next to the beer. She pulled it out, grabbed two glasses from the cupboard next to the sink, and sat down at the island.

He had watched all this with interest. "Make yourself at home," he teased her.

Lindsay jabbed a forkful of eggs his way with a smile.

* * *

He had a later shift than she did, so she took the rest of breakfast to go and took a cab to work. When she got there, she quickly showered and changed clothes, almost running smack into Kendall Novak. The blonde was sweating, Lindsay guessed she used the employee gym on the eighteenth floor. "Hi," Kendall greeted her breathlessly.

"Hi yourself. Good workout?"

"Always is." Kendall peeled off her tanktop and tossed it into her locker. "So you goin' to the Halloween party?" she asked.

Lindsay clipped her badge to her pants pocket. "Yeah. You and Adam?"

She nodded with a cheesy grin, "We have the _best_ costumes," she glowed.

Lindsay made a mental note to check out the costume shop after work. "Well, don't spoil it for me, I want to be surprised. I'll see you in a while?"

Kendall nodded. "Sure, I've got Trace on the McLaren case," she said as she headed into the shower.

_McLaren_...Lindsay headed out of the locker room, intent on finding Mac.

She caught up with him outside his office. "Lindsay, you get your apartment back tonight," Mac told her.

"Great," Lindsay replied. "How's McLaren doing?"

Mac motioned for her to come into his office. She followed him inside. He took a seat behind his desk. Lindsay stayed standing. "Surprisingly enough, our killer missed all the important stuff," Mac said. "One stab wound nicked his lung, but other than that, he'll be just fine, though it'll hurt to breathe for a couple of weeks."

"Any trace or DNA?" Lindsay queried.

"I found no defensive wounds," Mac reported. "And there was nothing on the knife."

"Our killer wore gloves?"

"Could be," Mac replied. "Lindsay, do you know anything about this kid that could help us out?"

Lindsay shook her head. "No. He's a history major at Chelsea, he knows about early American art, the Revolutionary War, early New York history...pretty sure he lives by himself." She shrugged. "He was going to help me with the painting I have in my living room, tell me more about it, see what it's worth, things like that." She finally took a seat. "He's a nice kid, Mac, I don't know why someone would want to kill him."

"Why would he have come to your apartment that night?" Mac asked.

"He knows I work for the lab. I guess he figured if anyone could figure out who did this to him, it'd be me."

Mac nodded. "And we're going to." His phone rang then, and he held up a hand to keep Lindsay from leaving his office. "Taylor...When?...I'll send someone down." He hung up. "That was Queen of Mercy. Your friend is awake. Why don't you head down there, talk to him?"

She nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll let you know if I get anything."

* * *

Her friend looked very pale. It looked like it pained him every time he took a breath. She knocked on the door, though, and his eyes lit up. Happy to see someone that wasn't wearing scrubs. "Lindsay," he rasped. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?" she asked him, taking a seat next to his bed.

He grimaced.

"Ah. Gotcha."

"You...you didn't come down just to see how I was doing," Franklin McLaren said breathlessly.

Lindsay shook her head. "No, I didn't. But I'm glad you're doing better. McLaren...what do you remember about last night?"

He closed his eyes. "I was studying... for my Rev...Revolutionary War midterm," he said. "It got really cold in my apartment. I...thought...maybe I had a draft, so I got up to check the windows." He stopped, taking in deep breaths, all the while wincing at every single one. It made Lindsay's lungs hurt in sympathy. "I remember...I looked in the window, and I saw someone behind me."

"You saw him? What did he look like?"

"Tall. Dark hair."

"Anything else?" Lindsay asked him.

He thought about it, and then shook his head. "No. I remember, I turned around...and I felt this...this stabbing pain in my chest. I saw I was bleeding."

"What happened to your attacker?" Lindsay pressed.

He looked up at the ceiling. Then he looked at her. "I don't kn-know. It was like...like he disappeared."

_Into thin air_. _Tall, dark haired..._ "McLaren, I'll be by to see you later. Your mom is on a flight in from Plano to come see you. Thank you for your help," Lindsay said. She got up and left the room.

_Tall, dark haired, and disappeared into thin air._ As weird as it was to say it, Lindsay needed to go home and have a talk with her ghost. _What in the _hell_ am I gonna tell Mac_?


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY" they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Here's the thing with this chapter. I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to Revolutionary War stuff in classes. My knowledge is very limited. In fact, the history in this chapter is made up. Just work with me.****CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

She got home at eight o'clock, and the sun was just disappearing over the cityscape. Shrugging out of her jacket, she didn't even bother locking up her gun and badge. "Callan! I need to speak with you. _Now!_"

He materialized in a heartbeat in a corner of the kitchen. "Is your friend all right?" he asked, quiet concern etching his tone.

"What?" Lindsay was thrown off her soapbox for a moment. Then, she regained footing. "McLaren's fine. Hurts like hell." She got up in Callan's face, an amusing sight. "Funny thing, Callan. He said his attacker was tall, dark, and _disappeared into thin air_!"

Callan's brow furrowed as he processed that. "And you think...you think it was _me_?" he asked her carefully.

"You're the only person I know that can literally vanish into thin air, buddy." She glared at him, directly in his cobalt blue eyes. "I think it's high time you start telling me what you remember."

He looked at her. "If you believe I did this to your friend..." He stood over her, his cobalt eyes like ice. Suddenly, he reached out and gripped her shoulder. She gasped at how cold his touch was. "Then why do you even want to hear my story? Call in your Catholic priest and be rid of me."

She flinched at him throwing her words back in her face. She hadn't meant to make him angry. In fact, the truth was... "Because, Callan, I really don't think you did it. I think McLaren's attacker is flesh and blood human." She sighed as she sat down in the bird's nest chair. "Unless you know about some other ghost inhabiting the building."

"To my knowledge, I am the only one," Callan said. "I did not do this, Lindsay Monroe, I swear to you."

She leaned back, curling up in the chair. She sighed. "I believe you. But you still owe me an explanation. How am I supposed to help you if I don't know how...how you came to be stuck in my apartment?"

Callan chuckled. "You can say it- 'how I died.' Believe me, it does not bother me anymore. I've a lifetime to come to terms with it, and now I've decided it doesn't matter, as long as I can perhaps move on."

"It must be very lonely," Lindsay said.

She watched as Callan tested the couch. It reminded her a little of old Bugs Bunny cartoons-where he's going to get cooked by Hiawatha-he sits, pops up in surprise, then gently lowers himself into the pot of boiling water. She couldn't help it-the sight of the proper gent unnerved by her couch was a little much, and she burst out laughing.

It unsettled his concentration, and he fell through the couch.

Lindsay gasped.

He looked around. "Hmmm. Apparently it takes a bit more concentration. I've never tried this before."

"You have no idea how weird that looks," Lindsay said. "All I can see is the top of your head sticking out of the cushion."

"I am glad it amuses you," Callan muttered as he pulled himself to his feet and attempted to sit down again.

She started laughing, then threw a hand over her mouth so she didn't screw up his concentration.

He sat down across from her. "Voila," he said with a smile.

Lindsay grinned. "Congratulations."

"Hey, guys," Danny Messer's voice rang out from the kitchen. Lindsay couldn't help but notice the tone of his voice. It wasn't his normal Staten Island lilt. There was something else to it.

"Hey, Danny, you're just in time. There's a beer in the fridge if you want it," Lindsay said.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, sitting down in front of her on the floor, putting himself between her and Callan. "What am I in time for?"

"Callan is going to explain why he's here," Lindsay said.

"I am going to _try_," he corrected her gently. He carefully leaned back, as he saw Lindsay doing, and then turned his gaze to the painting above her television. He closed his eyes, remembering...

* * *

_New York, 1783_

_"'Nother round, Cal?"_

_Callan Doyle set the mug down on the bar and shook his head. "'Fraid I can't, Allen," he replied as he dropped payment next to the empty mug. "I've patrol tonight." He stood up, glancing around the makeshift tavern of Fort Llewellyn. He could see several of the men he was enlisted with sitting there. The mood in the tavern was a good one...yet Callan Doyle was extremely on edge._

_He just hoped no one noticed it. "I'll be seein' you, Allen," he nodded to the bartender, realizing just what a lie that was. _

_"Don't work too hard tonight," was Allen's response. Then someone called to him at the end of the bar, and Allen's attention was diverted._

_Callan stepped outside and looked around. Every last man in the detachment seemed to be in the best of moods. He went to munitions and took his rifle, then slipped outside the fort to begin patrol. It was pitch black. An owl or two hooted somewhere in the darkness._

_"Nice night, eh?"_

_Callan nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, bayonet at the ready._

_Edward Quinn raised his hands in defense. "Sorry!" he apologized. "You seem a mite edgy, my friend."_

_Callan hoped the darkness was hiding the sweat on his forehead and the nervous twitch of his eye. "Thought it was the damned Americans," Callan replied. "I could've run you through, damn it."_

_"You take your job too seriously. You need to relax."_

I wish_, Callan thought grimly. "Perhaps after the raid tomorrow night, I'll go to Allen's and drown my nerves."_

_"I expect to join you there, of course," Edward said with a smile. He couldn't see it, but Callan could tell by his tone of voice. "When we celebrate our victory."_

_"Then I guess I'll see you there," Callan replied. "Aren't you supposed to be inside?"_

_Edward grinned. "Yes, sir," he mock-saluted. As he headed inside, his patrol finished for the evening, he popped his head out one last time, "Be careful," he said seriously._

_"Always," Callan promised. His friend let the palisade gate close behind him, leaving Callan alone outside the fort in the darkness._

* * *

_Callan began walking the perimeter, counting his steps. It gave him something to do while he stood outside for six hours, much better than thinking every cracking branch or crunching leaf was someone out to shoot you, or an animal out to maul you._

_But then a branch _did_ crack. Callan whirled, facing the direction of the sound. He saw nothing, but then, _You idiot_, he chastised himself_, it's pitch black out here_. "Who's there?" he demanded._

_"Easy there, Doyle," an easy accent whispered. "Don't be shootin' blind, now, I'm standin' right in front of you."_

_Callan put his rifle down. "You're takin' quite the risk here, James," he muttered. He reached forward and found James's arm. He yanked James into the trees. "What in the hell are you doing here?" he demanded._

_"I came to tell you that you'd best not be at home tomorrow night," James Benjamin explained. "Because we're plannin' on burnin' this fort to the ground."_

_"Seems awfully soon," Callan replied._

_"Folks back in town are gettin' antsy," James shrugged. "Sooner you Brits are out of here, the better."_

_Callan thought of Edward. And Allen. "You're not gettin' cold feet on me, are ya, Doyle?" James asked him. "I figured we paid you better than that. We could've just killed ya that night, y'know."_

_He knew. Some nights, he wished James would have just killed him that night he'd been out on patrol and been accosted by James and his brother, Paul. Instead, the two brothers made the soldier a deal- turn spy, help them defeat the British presence in New York. He'd be compensated well, and given amnesty._

_"But what a perfectly good waste of a man," a new voice whispered from the trees._

_Callan didn't bother to hide the smirk on his face, knowing the look James must have had on his at the moment. "Damn it, Laura, I told you to stay at home!"_

_"Paul's got things well in hand," Laura Benjamin replied. "Besides, brother, I'm twenty-five and you can't tell me what to do."_

_Callan liked Laura. She was a spitfire. So much more intriguing than most British women-they acted as if merely walking across a room might expend too much energy. No, blonde haired, hazel eyed Laura was just as much with the Revolutionaries as her brothers were-despite the fact that Callan had heard James and Paul threaten to tie her to the bedposts to keep her out of the way. Apparently, they'd never made good on the threat. Even now, she walked up to Callan brazenly ignoring her brother. "Evening, Callan," she said._

_"Evening yourself," he replied. "Staying out of trouble?"_

_He heard James snort derisively as Laura replied, "I'm the angel of the family."_

_"That isn't what I have heard," Callan teased. "I've heard you're a real devil."_

_He felt her hands slide up his chest and play with his uniform buttons. "The rumors just might be true," she replied._

_"Damn it, woman," James growled._

_She ignored him. "Callan, I'm so glad you've decided to join us. You can see that what is happening to the colonists is wrong."_

_"Well, it isn't as if I had much of a choice," he reminded her. Then he sighed. "Except I know you're right. You have no idea how hard this is for me."_

_She was looking right at him; he had the feeling of being watched intently. Then, that may have been James... "But I do. I know what it's like to be treated as if you don't exist. As if you're just there to be submissive and do the dirty work."_

_"I'm going back to town," James hissed. "Laura, you've got an hour before Paul and I come after you, and then I really am locking you inside the house." He looked at Callan. "Tomorrow night, sir. Midnight, be there to unlock the gate for us. And Doyle..." He left the threat hanging. He didn't need to say anything else. Callan knew. He listened as James stalked off toward town._

_"I thought he'd never leave," Laura whispered as she threw her arms around Callan and kissed him profusely. Callan dropped his rifle as he raced to keep up with her. "Just think, Callan, tomorrow night and the two of us can be together."_

_"Your brother is right, Laura," Callan said as he gently removed her hands from his neck. "You'll not be anywhere near here tomorrow night."_

_"I-"_

_"No," he said. "You'll be at home. It's too dangerous for you here. You wait at home, and the moment it's over, I'll be there." He grinned. "We can finish what you've started here tonight, Devil woman."_

_She sighed, resting against his chest. "I'll wait for you," she decided. "Only for you."_

_"I'd wait for you forever, if that is how long I had to wait," he promised her._

_Laura Benjamin smiled. "Then that's how long I'll wait for you as well."_

* * *

_The rest of his patrol and the next day seemed to crawl for Callan. He was completely on edge, but passed it off as perhaps catching some damned American sickness. It gave him a reason to be chalk white and sweating profusely. The day wore on forever, as his fellow soldiers talked about the raid they planned on conducting to rid themselves of the revolutionaries. And all Callan could think about was how it was never going to take place._

_By eleven, he was itching to go outside, so much so that he conned the night guard into leaving early, mostly by pulling rank on him. He was now in position. At midnight exactly, the gate would be open, and the Benjamin brothers and their colleagues would have free run of Fort Llewellyn._


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

There was a dead silence in Lindsay's apartment as Callan paused for a moment in his story. Outside, a light rain began to fall. "So you were a British turncoat," Danny processed the information. "And you were in love with Laura."

"I was, to both accounts," Callan responded. He got off the couch and began to pace, looking at the painting. "You know, I met Defoe. Defoe was one of James's friends. Hell of an artist, as you can tell. I wonder how long that horse of ours stood there while he painted that fort."

"Maybe he was casing the place," Danny said, and then had to explain what "casing" meant to a confused Callan.

"It's possible, I suppose," Callan replied.

"So what happened next?" Lindsay asked quietly.

Callan turned to her. "I'm afraid James's battle did not go as planned," he said, returning his gaze to the painting...

* * *

_New York, 1783_

_He cursed himself inwardly. _I should have just let them hang me. I should not have been a coward. _His actions from that night forward had not been those of a soldier. No, they'd been the reactions of a scared child, ignoring the oath he took to protect Britain's interests, willing to turn against his friends and comrades-in-arms just to save his own life. It was pathetic, really._ But I didn't want to die. I want to live..._and he thought of Laura. Perhaps...if tonight went as planned, he and Laura could start over. He could erase this time and start over. _And wouldn't James and Paul be pleased with that_, he thought. _

_Callan felt as though he'd only been outside the gate a moment before he heard the cracks and shifts in the trees, signifying that James and his companions had arrived. This is it. He could just make out James's silhouette. _

_And then the gate opened behind him, and someone stepped outside. "Callan-"_

_The crack of gunfire resounded in the quiet._

_Callan saw the flash of the powder. He automatically brought both hands to his chest...and found nothing. Then he looked behind him at the half-opened gate._

_Edward lay on the ground, one hand on his stomach. "No!" Callan cried. Suddenly the night became all-too real as he bent down next to his friend. Edward took his hand away and held it close to his face, looking confused as he studied it. His eyes drifted to his friend. "C-Callan?" he asked, sounding dazed and confused as he tried to figure out with his dying thoughts why he was on the ground and Callan was still alive._

_"I'm so sorry," Callan whispered as Edward's head and body went limp._

_And he barely had time to react as James stepped forward, Paul on his heels. "Where's the munitions shack?" James demanded._

_Callan couldn't respond, the shock of Edward's death still fresh. He raised a hand shakily and pointed._

_"Hey! What are you-" The voice came from the watchmen's tower in the corner of the fort. With one well-placed shot, Paul silenced the watchman. "Let's go get 'em, boys!" he yelled._

_"Leave this one," James said, nodding to Callan as the Americans raged past and into the fort. Then the fort door swung shut, leaving Callan with Edward outside the fort._

_Callan Doyle cried._

* * *

_After what seemed like an eternity, a voice broke through the silence. "Callan."_

_He looked up to see Laura making her way through the trees. "Laura. What are you doing here...your brothers-"_

_"Cannot tell me what to do," Laura repeated to him stubbornly. She knelt down next to him. "I'm so sorry, Callan. So very sorry."_

_"I killed him," Callan said, gesturing to Edward. "I killed them all."_

_Laura had no response but to wrap her arms around him and kiss the top of his head. "I'm so sorry," she repeated._

_The door burst open, and Paul Benjamin burst outside. His eyes found Callan, and he glared at him. "You," he hissed. "You..."_

_Paul collapsed to the ground, red staining the back of his homespun shirt._

_Laura and Callan both jumped to their feet. "Paul!" Laura screamed. She reached for her brother, but Callan held her back. "No!" he said. "Come on, something went wrong. We need to get out of here." He wondered where James was._

_And then James came outside. He looked at Callan. "You betrayed us," he hissed at the soldier._

_"What?" Callan demanded. "I didn't!"_

_"No, James, it's not-"_

_He looked at his sister. "Laura? What are you doing here?" He returned his gaze to Callan. "Half of my men are dead, Doyle! We had everything...we had the element of surprise...we had the inside man..."_

_He raised his rifle and aimed it at Callan's forehead. "You set us up!"_

_"James, that's ridiculous!" Laura protested._

_"Shut up, Laura!" James yelled back. "They _knew_ we were coming!"_

_"How?" Callan said. "How can you prove this?"_

_"James, don't-" Laura stepped forward, but her brother silenced her with a glare._

_"My brother's dead, Doyle! My friends are either dead or will be shortly! They were ready, _too_ ready for them _not_ to have known we were coming!" James took a step forward._

_"James, I swear to you, I do not know what's going on," Callan said. "No one said anything to me!"_

_"Of course," James said. Callan saw his finger tighten on the trigger._

_And then Laura stepped in front of him._

_The rifle went off._

* * *

The tension in Lindsay's apartment was so thick it settled on the skin like a high humidity. Her fingers were dug into Danny's shoulders, which were also tense. The two detectives looked at the ghostly soldier as he finished his story. "Wow," was all Danny could muster.

"Do you know...I mean, did you ever find out who..." Lindsay couldn't form the words.

Callan sighed. "All I can imagine is that I may have been followed the night before when I went into town. Or any other time before that. I don't know." His face flushed. "We have established I was _not _a good soldier." He sighed. "I couldn't protect her. I lost _everything_ that night." He looked up at the painting once again, the scene so much more peaceful than what he remembered. "James and I were both hanged by the British regiment. James for...well, for the attempt, and myself for being a traitor. I remember James swearing he was never going to forgive me. It didn't matter. I was not going to forgive myself, either."

He looked at Lindsay and bowed shortly. "Please, excuse me." With those words, he faded away, leaving the two detectives in silence.

* * *

Danny twisted so he was looking up at Lindsay. "That was quite the story," he said.

"And it doesn't really get us any closer to figuring out why Callan is still here." Lindsay sighed. "And, that's not the only mystery we've got to solve."

"We need to find out who attacked your buddy downstairs," Danny finished.

She nodded. "It's so sad," she said finally. "Everything."

Danny stood, pulling Lindsay from the chair and into a hug. "We'll get it all sorted out and put back," he promised. Then he brightened. "On the plus side, tomorrow night's the costume party at work."

Lindsay sighed as he kissed her on the forehead. "You okay?" he asked her.

She thought about it. "I think so," she said finally. "It's just a lot to process."

"Tomorrow morning, let's work on McLaren's case," Danny said. "Tomorrow night, we'll have fun at the party. And maybe, we'll just solve two mysteries at once while doin' it." He checked his watch. "Well, I should get goin'. You sure you're okay?"

She nodded. "Fine. I'm okay, I promise." She smiled. "Here. Before you go, I have something for your costume tomorrow." She disappeared into her room and returned with the required accessory.

He grinned. "You're serious about this?"

"I'm very sure," Lindsay replied. "In fact, I can't wait." She walked him to the door. "Don't forget to bring it to work with you tomorrow."

"I hope nobody sees it before the party. I'd have a hell of a time explainin' what I'm doin' with it."

She grinned. "It'll be _so_ worth it, though," she said as he stepped into the hallway. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

**Author's Note: I know I told a few folks that the costume party was gonna be this chapter, it's next chapter, I swear, it's my reward for finishing the flashback. I can't wait to write some fun! because the past few chapters have been awfully tense. As always, constructive criticism is usually warranted and ALWAYS appreciated, please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY" they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Okay, time to liven things up a mite. For iluvcsi4ever and lily moonlight, who have been hounding me to no end (everybody has, but them more than the rest :), the Halloween party is finally here, and I'm only two weeks off the real holiday. Not bad. If I used your costume idea, thank you so very much!! I don't remember who sent me what, exactly, but there's quite the interesting mix!**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"You can't be serious."

Hawkes sighed. "Lindsay, Stella and I have been all over McLaren's apartment. There's nothing there from our killer."

"But there's always _something_," Lindsay protested. She looked up at Stella. "How could there not be anything?"

Stella shrugged. "We could be looking at a professional."

"Stel, he's a history major. He's a college kid."

"Yeah, and the last college students we dealt with got in way over their heads."

Lindsay shivered.

Stella handed the folder over to Lindsay. "You're welcome to go back through it, see if we missed anything. Sometimes it helps having another pair of eyes."

"Yeah," Lindsay said, but she knew Stella was basically placating her.

Stella checked her watch. "Well, I'm officially off the clock." She grinned at Lindsay. "I'll see you in a few hours downstairs?"

"Sure, sounds good," Lindsay said, returning the smile. Her own costume was tucked away in her locker, as she knew everybody's was. All but Adam and Kendall-they were both off for the day. She wondered how they'd finagled that.

Hawkes looked at her. "Maybe I'll go take a look at the crime scene inventory again."

"Thanks," she said appreciatively. "I'm sorry I'm being such a jerk about this."

He smiled. "It's fine. Everyone else here would be the same way." With that, he waved and disappeared into Layout.

* * *

"Montana."

Lindsay turned to see Danny coming up the hall, in a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt. "Hi," she said.

"You don't sound happy to see me," he pouted teasingly. "How 'bout I go get my costume and try it again?"

She laughed. "Tempting as that sounds..."

"Anything on the case?" he asked her, turning serious.

She shook her head. "Nothing. This guy left no trace of himself at McLaren's apartment. Stella thinks it could've been a professional hit."

"Your boy into somethin' heavy?" Danny asked her. "Drugs, porn, somethin'?"

Lindsay shook her head. "I guess I don't know him all that well, but he sure seems like a straight arrow history geek to me."

"Well, don't worry about it. We'll get something."

"It's just frustrating. I mean, between Callan and McLaren..."

"Hey." Danny gave her a tight one-armed hug. "We'll get it all straightened out, remember?" He looked at his watch. "All right, I've got a meeting downstairs with Sid on another case. I'll see you in a couple hours?"

She nodded. "I can't wait."

He winked. "Me either!"

* * *

When the announcement had first been made that the Halloween party was going to be down in the morgue, Stella Bonasera was sure that someone was joking. But now, as she threaded her way through the mix of sexy nurses, vampires, Playboy bunnies and gangsters, she had to admit that there wasn't a better place to have it. And Sid and his staff were unbelievably meticulous, so there wasn't a trace of the fact that just that afternoon, the morgue had been a full house. Everything was put away, and Sid had replaced all the overhead lights with black lights, so the morgue had an eerie glow to it. Someone had popped in a "Spooky Sounds" CD, and so shrieks and moans and classic Fright Night movie themes filled the air. The overhead monitors, usually reserved for that in-depth look at a body, had been attached to a laptop and were now playing classic scenes from horror movies. Stella was watching Norman Bates go after the woman in the shower when someone called her name.

"Meee-owww, Stella, you look hot!"

Stella turned at the sound of Angell's voice. She grinned. "You don't look half bad yourself, there."

Angell had straightened her hair so it fell straight down her back. She wore a bright pink headband, white tennis shoes and pushdown white socks. Her pants were tight straight-legged jeans and her top was cut to just above her navel. It was black, and over the top of the shirt was a bright pink cropped jacket. She turned around so Stella could read the back-_Pink Ladies_. Stella grinned. "Nice! Where's your T-Bird?"

"Right behind you," Don Flack's voice said. Stella turned and burst out laughing. Flack had copied Kenicke's hair from _Grease_, and wore a pair of black jeans, tennis shoes, a tight black T-shirt and a leather jacket. He pulled a comb from his shirt pocket and slicked it through his hair in his best Jeff Conaway impression. Stella shook her head. "You guys look awesome."

"Have you seen everyone else?" Angell asked Stella.

"Adam and Kendall aren't here yet, and neither are Danny and Lindsay...come to think of it, I haven't seen Mac, either."

"Get a load of Hammerback," Flack said, pointing across the room.

Everyone turned. Sid Hammerback sported a black pinstriped suit with a black tie. A gold chain hung from his pocket, and a black fedora with a white stripe was tilted just over one eye. He spotted them staring at him and threaded his way through the crowd. "Damn fine shindig," he growled, Al-Capone style. "Tonight's the only night I ain't gonna be puttin' anyone on ice."

Flack applauded, and Sid grinned. "What were you expecting?" he asked Stella, who hadn't quite gotten over the shock of this dapper Sid Hammerback.

"The stories you tell?" Stella shrugged. "Guess I figured a mummy or a zombie or something." She chuckled. "But you clean up real nice."

"And you should wear _that_ to work more often," he replied. "Might be one black cat that'll bring us some good luck instead of bad." He smiled. "Well, you'll have to excuse me, I need to get back to my wife." He pointed to a woman in a nurse's costume that would make any hot-blooded male require CPR. She waved.

Flack and Angell exchanged surprised looks.

Stella looked down at the skintight Catwoman-style leggings and bodysuit she wore. A velvet black tail hung down to the back of her knees, and she'd drawn whiskers on her cheeks to match the velvety ears stuck in her hair. It was a very un-Stella thing to wear, and she found she was enjoying it a lot.

Just then, Angell burst out laughing. She grabbed Flack's arm and jerked her thumb at the door. Flack, Stella and Sid all turned as Adam Ross and Kendall Novak stepped into the party.

Adam was wearing a suit and tails with a tall black top hat. In one hand, he carried a thin black wand. And hanging on his arm was Kendall Novak in a white Playboy bunny costume, complete with furry ears and poofy white tail. She wore a pair of white boots that went up past her knees.

"I didn't think Ross had it in him," Flack noted.

Angell hit him in the arm. "Stop staring at her tail," she chided him.

The two newcomers stepped up. "Hey, everybody," Kendall said, not shy at all.

"I wanna see you pull her out of that hat!" Flack said to Adam, and the group laughed.

Someone gave a low whistle. "We-ell," a thick Texan-style accent drawled, "this is a hell of a party, ain't it."

Everyone turned around.

Angell whistled. Flack put an arm around her. "And you told _me_ to stop staring?" he teased.

Danny Messer had arrived. Danny was wearing a pair of dark blue Wrangler jeans and a pair of black cowboy boots. He had a black button-down Western-style shirt with white embroidery and a tall black Stetson. He even had a lariat hooked to his belt, which was sporting a HUGE silver belt buckle.

"Holy hell, Messer," Flack said. "You've crossed over."

"Where'd you get the buckle?" Adam asked him.

"It was Lindsay's dad's. She gave it to me last night."

"That's what you were carrying in the plastic bag!" Adam said. "I wondered why you kept trying to stay out of everyone's way."

"That certainly would've made people talk," Angell agreed. "Danny, you've got a great Wrangler butt."

"A what?" Danny and Flack asked at the same time.

Angell raise her eyebrows. "Messer, ask your girlfriend about Wrangler butts sometime." She looked around. "Speaking of Lindsay..."

Flack was still working on the Wrangler comment. _Must be a chick thing_, he decided.

"Wait 'til you see what I roped me today," Danny drawled. He picked up the lariat off his belt, turned, stepped outside the door, and lightly swung the lariat around something in the hall and began pulling it in.

The rope around her shoulders, he pulled Lindsay Monroe into the room and right up next to him. Lindsay had let her hair down and curled it, wearing a black and red lacy saloon-style dress with a corseted top. She had a simple headband around her head with a big black feather and rhinestones. She wore a simple black choker around her neck and long black gloves. She wore black fishnet stockings and a pair of dark red cowboy boots. She winked at Stella, Angell and the rest of the group. "Howdy," she said. "Didn't I find myself a damn fine cowboy for tonight?"

Everyone was in shock.

"I need a drink," Flack declared, and the group moved over to the refreshment table to dig into the black cherry punch and Halloween-themed goodies.

"Hey, guys-whoa. We're gonna need a group shot after this," Sheldon Hawkes said as he joined the group.

"Who's he supposed to be?" Stella asked Angell. Lindsay shrugged.

But Adam, Flack and Danny were all grinning. Hawkes was wearing a purple and black number with a purple cape and tall black boots. He'd been letting his facial hair grow just the right way, then trimmed a neat mustache. On his belt was a futuristic-looking black gun.

"Lando?" Flack said with a grin. "Nice work, Doc."

Hawkes's eyebrows shot up. "How in the hell do you know who Lando Calrissian is?" he demanded.

"_Star Wars_? Are you kiddin' me? Best damn movies ever," Flack declared.

"Flack, I didn't realize you were a _Star Wars_ nerd," Angell said as she came up next to him.

"'Fraid so," he replied. "Are you okay with that?"

"Actually, yeah," she replied. "I think it's hot. I always had a thing for Han Solo."

"Oh really," Flack said with a smile. "More of a thing for Han Solo than for a...what did ya call it? A Wrangler butt?"

"It's a close call," Angell admitted. "You go buy a pair and then I'll tell you what it means."

"All right, you two, save it for the janitor's closet," a new voice said, and the final member of the team joined them.

Stella's eyes lit up. She couldn't believe he'd actually shown up in costume. Well, more or less, anyway. _They're right_, she thought dreamily, _there really _is_ something about a man in uniform_.

"Wow, Mac," Danny said to his boss. "I didn't realize you were so decorated."

Mac Taylor had gone full Marine Corps dress-blues for the party. Aside from the photo in his office, Stella had never seen Mac's full uniform. She was pretty sure he hadn't gotten married in them. He even wore his cover. The brass and his shoes were polished. "I thought you hated Halloween costumes," Stella said.

He raised an eyebrow. "I do," he admitted. "But this isn't really a costume."

"Say what you want," Stella said, "but you're still dressed up. And deep down, I think you're maybe even enjoying yourself a little bit."

"Maybe I am," Mac agreed.

Someone switched the music from the _Halloween_ soundtrack to something a little more danceable. Flack and Angell were already on the floor, along with Danny and Lindsay, who now sported Danny's Stetson, and Hawkes, dancing with a lab tech in a Playboy-made cop uniform from Ballistics. "So to add insult to injury tonight," Stella said, taking one of his white gloved hands, "would you like to dance with me?"

He didn't answer right away. "Oh, come on, Mac," Stella needled. "Show the lab you _can_ loosen up a little." She grinned. "What better way to do it than to dance with possibly the raciest costume here?"

"Stella," Mac began, "yours isn't the raciest costume here, there's a girl I know from DNA that's wearing a Disney princess dress I know Walt wouldn't have approved of." But then Stella felt herself being tugged toward the dance floor. "But," Mac said, "yours is definitely the _best_ costume I've seen tonight."

* * *

"Ow, Danny, take it easy for a sec so I can find my keys."

"Hurry up, damn it," he growled. "I can't wait to get you out of that dress."

Lindsay finally located her apartment keys in her purse. "I just hope you stay in those jeans for a while," she teased back. She unlocked the door, and she was barely a foot inside before Danny had his hands on her. She had just unbuttoned the Wrangler shirt when a voice interrupted the silence.

"Miss Lindsay?"

Lindsay and Danny jumped apart like they'd been shocked, and Danny groaned.

Lindsay flipped on the kitchen light...and gasped.

Her apartment was in shambles. Pots and pans were strewn over the kitchen floor-she was surprised she and Danny hadn't tripped over them. In the living room, she could see her couch cushions thrown on the floor. She looked up at Callan, who was standing amid the mess in her living room. His face was a mixture of apology...and fear.

And then she saw it.

The Defoe painting was on the floor. Someone had shredded the canvas right down the middle.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: Thanks to the folks that keep pestering me to update, you know who you are. I appreciate the bugging.**

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Danny immediately left Lindsay in the kitchen to scope out the rest of the apartment. Lindsay looked around, then up at Callan. "What happened?" she demanded.

"I-I may have been mistaken when I said I was the only ghost in this building," Callan admitted.

"Mistaken as in _really_ mistaken...or mistaken as in 'I forgot to tell you there's another freakin' ghost in the building'?" Lindsay said.

"The former," Callan replied defensively. "I have been nothing but honest with you, Lindsay Monroe."

"I _know_, Callan. So then what the hell is goin' on?"

"Did you happen to get a look at the guy?" Danny asked, coming out of the hallway. "Place is clean, Linds."

"I did," Callan hedged.

Danny stepped up to the ghost, though Callan beat him in the height department by at least three inches. "Care to share?" he said through gritted teeth, his accent becoming more pronounced. It would've been funny, him in the unbuttoned Wrangler shirt and tight jeans with his oh-so-New York accent, had Lindsay's apartment not been ransacked.

He looked at the two of them. "I cannot be certain," he began. "If you have the lights off, Lindsay, I usually do not do anything. Most of the time I sit in your chair, thinking. It is surprisingly comfortable, considering the fact that I shouldn't be able to feel it. When I heard things being thrown in the kitchen, I went to investigate."

"And?" Lindsay pressed.

Callan looked at her, his expression grim. "It looked like James," he said finally.

"As in your girlfriend's dead brother?" Danny said. Lindsay looked at him, surprised at his callousness.

"The same," Callan replied, also seemingly surprised by Danny's tone.

"Why?" Lindsay asked.

"I don't know!" Callan said, sounding mildly annoyed and frustrated. "I was in such shock to see him...he-he looked just like the day that h-he, that _we_-"

"Yeah, we get it," Danny interrupted.

"Before I could say anything, he threw that at me," Callan said. "I was amazed he could become corporeal so easily- it took me a lifetime-so to speak- to master that." He pointed to a candle holder Stella had given Lindsay as a housewarming present. "I ran into the living room, he must have followed me." Callan pointed. "And then he threw that," he said, pointing to one of Lindsay's DVDs. "I disappeared before it could hit me. It must have been when he slashed your painting." He looked somber. "I am sorry, Lindsay, about the painting."

"Screw the damn painting!" Danny exploded.

"Danny-" Lindsay started, but Danny held up a hand.

"No. Ever since he moved in or _you_ moved in or whatever the hell it was, you've had nothing but trouble!" He jerked a thumb at Callan.

"Danny, I-"

"Save it, Casper." He looked at Lindsay. "From day one, I haven't liked this situation at all."

"Which part?" Lindsay asked. "The part where there's a ghost with an unsolved mystery or the part where it's a _male_ ghost?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?"

"You know what, Danny. Don't pretend the fact that Callan's a guy doesn't bother you."

"You really think we're having this conversation 'cause I'm jealous of a two hundred year old dead guy?" Danny shook his head. "I'm scared for you, Lindsay. I don't know who the hell attacked McLaren or who was in here tonight, but I bet it was one in the same guy, all right? And I'm scared that it's gonna be you that gets hurt next time instead of something inanimate." He looked at Callan. "I ain't worried about you; you're already dead. No offense."

"None taken," Callan replied amiably.

"I don't know what sort of mess Callan's mixed up in...but I don't want you joining him anytime soon," Danny said, tilting Lindsay's chin with his hand, making her look into his serious blue eyes. "No offense," he added as an afterthought.

"None taken," Callan said, though he sounded this time as though it was otherwise. "And Danny, I can assure you, I would never let anything happen to Miss Lindsay. I would die –again- for her." Callan said determinedly.

"It's not gonna come to that," Lindsay said. Then she thought of something. "What if..."

"What if...what?" Danny pressed her to finish the sentence.

Lindsay looked at the shredded painting, then Callan, and finally to Danny. "I think I know who attacked McLaren," she said. "I'm sure it was James."

Danny thought about it. "That would explain the absence of fingerprints or any other evidence," he agreed. He frowned. "But what's the motive?"

"I think we need to take a look at what McLaren was researching for his paper," Lindsay said. Then she looked at Callan. "And...I think it's about time we let everybody else in on the secret."

Danny chuckled and shook his head. "I can't wait to see the look on Mac's face when we tell him his prime suspect's been dead for two hundred years," he said with a grin.

"Hold on a moment!" Callan said, holding up a hand. "What exactly are we suggesting here?"

Lindsay looked at Callan. "If you want us to keep helping you, then we have to solve McLaren's assault case. And if we are going to do that, then we need to convince my coworkers that science can't solve everything. Which means..." she sighed. "Which means that I'm going to have my friends from the crime lab come over here, and well..." She shrugged. "We're gonna have to introduce them to my ghost."

Callan's eyes widened. "I-Miss L-Lindsay, I don't-"

"Callan, please trust me. This is the only way we're gonna solve anything," Lindsay pleaded with him.

He still looked unsure as he faded from view, leaving Lindsay and Danny alone in the room.

"I've seen this, I know how it goes," Lindsay said unhappily. "I'll get everyone in the room, I'll ask him to come out, and he won't and my friends will all think I'm freakin' crazy."

"He'll pull through," Danny said. And then, under his breath, "'Cause if he doesn't I'll kill him again myself."

"Danny, I'm sorry about what I said-"

He grinned. "Aw, don't worry about it. We were all pretty hot." And then he grinned, that trademark typical Messer smirk. "Speakin' of hot..."

Lindsay bit her bottom lip with a grin. "Why, Mr. Messer," she said in a fake Texas drawl, "I'm not sure I like where this is goin'."

In his best John Wayne, Danny replied, "Well, li'l lady, we'll just say the good guys don't always wear white." And in one movement, he scooped her up in his arms and was on his way down the hall.

* * *

"You must be Lindsay."

The woman had dark blonde hair and gray eyes. A few strands of white hair mixed with her hair, betraying the fact that she was Franklin McLaren's mother instead of sister.

Lindsay smiled as she stepped into the hospital room. "And you must be McLaren's mother. It's nice to meet you," she said honestly.

Anita McLaren gave Lindsay a hug. "Thank you for looking out for my boy," she said.

"Ma," McLaren griped from bed. "I'm 26, not sixteen." He grinned at Lindsay. "Now you can see why I moved from Plano, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Lindsay said easily. "You've got a mother who takes care of you and drives halfway across the country to come see you in the hospital." She grinned. "You've got it so rough. I feel for you."

He smiled.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. "It hurts to laugh."

"Then I won't tell any of my Montana redneck jokes," Lindsay promised. "You up for a couple questions?"

McLaren struggled to sit up in bed. His mother was at his side in an instant, Lindsay following soon after. They helped ease him into a sitting position. "Ow," he hissed through his front teeth.

"Should I get you a doctor or a nurse?" Anita asked her son, worry etching her beautiful face.

"No, I-I'm okay," he said. He took a couple of slow, deep breaths (that to Lindsay looked like they hurt), and then looked at her. "What d'ya want to know?"

"I want to talk about your paper," she said. "Your history thesis."

"Funny," he said, "I didn't peg you for a history buff."

Lindsay shrugged. "I never said I wasn't," she replied.

McLaren accepted that. "Well, it's all about one of the last battles of the Revolutionary War. You see, there was a British detachment right here in New York," he said. His grin got wider. "Here's the cool part- their fort- Fort Llewellyn? I looked at old maps of Manhattan- it's like, pretty much right where our apartment building is."

_That explains a _lot_, _Lindsay thought to herself. At least it wasn't the clichéd "Indian Burial Ground" thing. "That's cool," she said, interested despite herself. "What else?"

"Well, on the night of July 13, 1783, there was an American revolutionary group that was gonna go take over the fort, right? But the British knew they were coming. A bunch of the Americans died."

Lindsay thought about what she knew, and realized that if she ever told McLaren, he'd have one _hell_ of a history paper. "Yeah, the British had a spy in their group, right? It's kinda funny, y'know, they thought they could trust him and all, but it turns out he was a double agent, right, he's workin' for the Americans. But then the Americans attack, and, well, everybody thought the spy'd gone _triple_ agent and was actually workin' for the British!"

Lindsay blinked. He wasn't talking about Callan.

So then who was the mystery spy?


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY, they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry, still trying to iron out the kinks, but enjoy chapter 13.**

**CHAPTER 13**

Danny cut the crime scene tape at McLaren's apartment and unlocked his door. When Lindsay had called him from the hospital, telling him all about McLaren's revelations, he knew he needed to have a second look at McLaren's apartment. Maybe a fresh set of eyes could be helpful, could reveal something that so far, he, Lindsay and Callan seemed to have missed.

He turned to the person standing next to him. "After you," he gestured.

"Danny, I'm still not sure why precisely you want _me_ to look at a crime scene," Sid Hammerback said. "Of course, you know I won't turn you down, but I'm not a crime scene investigator. I don't know how much help I'm going to be."

"Sid, let's face it," Danny said. "You see things just a little bit differently than anyone else in the lab." He followed Sid inside the apartment. "I just need a fresh set of eyes in here." He didn't add _Plus you're the only person that might be easy to convince there's a ghost that committed attempted murder._ "You a history buff, Sid?"

Sid looked at the research spread out on the kitchen table. "To be honest, I never paid much attention in history class in high school _or_ college." He flipped a few of the pages in the textbook. "I was too busy paying attention to my professor- ironically my senior history teacher ended up taking a position at the college the year I was a freshman, she was a lovely woman, although she did walk with a bit of a limp and I always highly suspected-"

"Too much information," Danny held up a hand.

Sid blinked. "Right." He looked around the apartment. "Danny, tell me about this case."

"History major," Danny explained. "He came home from classes, there was someone in his apartment looking through his stuff. He surprised him, tried to fight him off, ended up gettin' knifed."

"Maybe it had something to do with his research," Sid said, gesturing to all the books.

Danny grinned- Sid was dead on. "He's writing a paper on the attack on the last fort of the British during the American Revolution."

"Perhaps he's discovered something American historians have missed," Sid suggested. He rifled through a couple of the pages again. "How has Lindsay been?" he asked. "I understand she and this young man knew each other?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah, he helped her move some stuff in."

"You know, she was downstairs the other day and told me an interesting story," Sid said as he walked around the living room- also covered in textbooks, printouts and pencils and notebooks.

"Really," Danny said. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what it was. "What story, Sid?"

"Apparently Lenny the Landlord thought that her apartment was haunted?"

Danny grinned. "So you know, then."

Sid turned excitedly. "So it's true, then, she _does_ have a ghost."

"Actually, Sid," Danny shook his head, "there might be two. And one might be our assaulter."

Sid's eyes lit up. Danny hadn't seen him this happy since the mummy autopsy. "Have-have you spoken with it?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "More than I've wanted," he sighed. "You'll get to meet him later, we've decided it's time everyone was let in on the secret."

"This is fascinating!" Sid exulted. Then he was quiet as something in a rough draft of McLaren's paper caught his eye. "Danny..."

He handed Danny the paper. Danny skimmed it. He looked up at Sid, then around at all the research. Then he smiled. "I knew I picked the right person for this job. Sid, you're a genius." He checked his watch. "Aaannd...we have to go."

* * *

Two large pizzas from Ray's sat on Lindsay kitchen counter as Danny popped the top off two beers and handed one to Sheldon and one to Flack. He turned to Angell. "Angel?"

"I'll have what he's having," Angell replied, jerking a thumb at Flack.

Danny looked at Flack and raised his eyebrows. "You two are a match made in heaven."

"Shut up and get the woman her beer, Messer," Flack replied easily.

"Aw, Danny's right, Don," Stella teased. "Although she's got her hands full, I'll say that much."

"I can handle him," Angell replied. "I beat him twice in basketball the other day."

Danny and Sheldon filed that away for blackmail information later.

"Mac here yet?" Lindsay asked, coming out of the bathroom.

"Linds, what happened to your painting?" Flack asked.

"Long story," she replied. "I'll explain when Mac gets here."

Sid hadn't said anything. He was watching the living room with a keen eye.

There was a knock on the door, and Mac Taylor joined the party. Lindsay handed her boss a beer with a nervous sigh. Danny squeezed her shoulder. "Come on," he said to everyone. "Let's go in the living room. Grab a slice, find a chair."

He noticed he was the only one who grabbed a slice of the four meat with jalapenos and extra cheese.

* * *

Once everyone was seated in the living room, Mac spoke. "You said this had something to do with our case?" he asked Lindsay.

She nodded. "I think I have someone who can provide us with useful information about McLaren's attack."

"Where did you find him?" Stella asked.

"He, uh, lives in the building," Lindsay replied. "He's my neighbor."

"Why did he wait so long to come forward?" Mac asked.

"He wasn't sure if anyone would believe him," Lindsay said. It was amazing how confident you could sound if you'd rehearsed in the shower.

"So when do we get to question him?" Mac asked her, the CSI/detective taking over.

"He wanted to meet you all tonight," Lindsay explained. She took a breath, and looked at Danny. Danny put an arm around her and hugged her.

Everyone stared at them, utterly confused. "What the hell is going on?" Flack demanded.

"I think they're getting restless," Danny said.

"You're right." _I hope this works_. "Hey- Callan?" Lindsay called. "You mind coming in here for a minute?"

There was a pause. She saw Stella look around the room, saw Hawkes exchange a glance with Sid.

Just as she was about to try to make up a lame excuse about what was going on, she felt the subtle shift, felt the hair lift off the back of her neck.

And then Callan Flynn Doyle materialized in front of the group.

* * *

Lindsay surveyed the group. Sid was glowing. He couldn't have been happier if he'd been in autopsy and had just determined there _were_ in fact _two_ shooters on the grassy knoll that shot JFK.

Sheldon and Mac sort of shared the same look- they were looking at Callan much as Danny had the first time- searching for wires, cameras, mirrors, _anything_ that would explain why someone who hadn't been in front of them thirty seconds ago was now standing there dressed like someone from a Renaissance Fair.

Flack's jaw was on the floor. He couldn't have been more surprised if you'd told him the New York Rangers had decided to quit playing hockey and star on Broadway. Angell's face mimicked his. Her mouth was stuck in a permanent _o_ of surprise.

Stella was just sort of nodding, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. Lindsay could tell she was processing everything in her head.

Callan Flynn Doyle looked _very_ uncomfortable. He looked around at the new faces and their expressions, and then down to Danny and Lindsay.

"Uh..." Lindsay decided to break the silence. "Everyone...I'd like you to meet Corporal Callan Flynn Doyle."

The use of the military rank seemed to spark something in Mac. He stood up, about Callan's height. "Corporal," he acknowledged slowly.

"Sir," Callan said, able to tell that this man had served in some sort of military capacity, and was also higher in rank than he. "A pleasure...though, under the circumstances, a little strange."

Mac nodded. "Likewise," he said. He looked at Lindsay. "And this would be your witness?"

She nodded slowly in agreement. "He is."

Mac looked up at Callan again. "Well, then, Corporal, let's hear what you have to say."

"Mac..." Hawkes's voice spoke up from the floor.

Mac's eyes never moved from Callan. "I don't know what to make of this either; but if this guy's our only link, then I think we need to hear what he has to say."


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Callan's story moved Lindsay every time she heard it, and from the looks on Stella and Angell's faces, she wasn't the only one moved by the tragic drama. She saw Angell move closer to Flack, watched him sneak an arm around her waist. She watched Stella sit up a little straighter, then felt Danny's arm around her shoulders, and she leaned back to rest on his chest as Callan finished with the events of the night before.

There was another uncomfortable pause as he finished the story. Lindsay could see everyone processing the information, watched the detective in them all take over, minus Sid and Hawkes. But she could tell the medical examiners in them were analyzing all the details to determine the cause of said haunting.

Then Danny spoke. "Sid, you wanna tell 'em what you find at McLaren's apartment today?"

Sid took his glasses apart and clipped them together to rest on his chest before answering. "The young man- McLaren- was writing a historical analysis of the attack on Fort Llewellyn, one of the last British outposts of the Revolutionary War. It reads like a case file, to be perfectly frank, he's wonderfully analytical and keeps to point. But the part he was in the midst of writing, presumably the reason he was attacked, was an excerpt from a man named Defoe-"

"That's the guy that painted Monroe's art over there," Flack cut in.

Sid raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked Lindsay. She nodded in confirmation. "Fascinating. Um, moving on, Defoe survived the attack on Fort Llewellyn, but only just. However, it wasn't until much later in his life that he wrote down his suspicions, that while Corporal Doyle may have been involved with selling out his comrades-"

Lindsay watch Callan's brow furrow at the words "selling out" as if he wasn't sure what they meant, and then his face frowned in recognition at the phrase.

"-our Corporal was in fact sold out by an American."

Angell raised a hand. "Would that happen to be James Benjamin?" she queried.

"It wasn't James," Stella answered. "It was his brother, Paul."

Sid nodded. "Two points," he acknowledged. "Naturally, history would assume since James was hanged and Paul was killed in the battle that James was guilty until Defoe wrote about it. But in the grand scheme of the Revolutionary War, it was simply overlooked."

"So then James's connection to this spot is making sure his brother is avenged." Stella said.

"And his own wrongful death," Hawkes added.

"But why wait until now?" Mac queried.

"Because Mr. McLaren only started uncovering the truth now," Callan spoke up quietly. "And because-" Here he turned to Lindsay with a sorrowful look. "Because you are so very much like Laura. You don't have the same hair or eyes, but-" He shook his head. "Perhaps that is why I chose to ask for your help. It was a way to atone for...for Laura."

Danny's grip tightened on Lindsay's arm.

"I am sorry to have involved you in this," Callan apologized again.

"It's fine," Lindsay said. "But I say we solve this before anything else happens to anybody."

"I agree," Mac said. He shook his head. "I have no idea how I'm going to write this one up."

"We'll help," Hawkes replied with a smile.

Lindsay had to smile in return- everyone seemed to accept this crazy scenario no problem. Science couldn't explain it...but there was no denying something you saw with your own eyes.

"Okay, well, so we've agreed to pull an exorcism," Flack spoke up. "But does anyone here actually know how to _solve_ a _haunting_?"

"It's not an exorcism," Sid cut in.

"I couldn't think of another word," Flack responded. "We could call in those pain in the ass brothers from a couple years ago-not that I particularly want to work with the smart-assed one again. But they seemed to know what they were doing."

"Did you actually happen to be civil to him long enough to get a phone number?" Stella asked him.

He was quiet. "Didn't think so," Stella replied. "Plus their job sort of takes them all over, and we need to deal with this fast. There's no telling how long it would take them to get here."

"What about a professional ghost hunting agency?" Danny suggested. "There's a couple of really good ones around here- one based in Rhode Island."

Callan cringed.

"Uh, probably not," Lindsay replied. "Bad experiences with ghost hunters." She grinned and looked up at Callan. "I could always call in that priest," she offered.

"I believe I would rather have the ghost hunters," Callan replied.

Lindsay laughed.

Then Danny thought of something. He turned to Lindsay. "So...when are we gonna let Adam in on the secret?" He grinned. "Pity he had to work a double."

"Yeah, it would be a shame if he missed out on this," Lindsay agreed. "We'll break it to him later."

Callan shook his head. "What am I?" he demanded.

* * *

**Author's Note:** A little short, I know. Reviews are usually warranted and always appreciated. Like it, hate it, whatever, hit me with a review. I appreciate EVERYBODY that's been reviewing (and keeping me updating. It's impossible to have writer's block with certain people nagging (but in a good way! Thanks! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY", they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"Nothing." Lindsay slammed a hand down on her desk. "There's _nothing_ about getting rid of malevolent spirits here."

"'Malevolent'?" Danny repeated. "Since when did you become the expert in ectoplasm?"

She looked at him seriously. "Since I decided that I don't want to end up like Laura Benjamin," she replied.

"Oh, Montana," Danny said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and giving her a hug. "Don't even worry. I ain't gonna let anythin' happen to you, and neither is Callan."

Lindsay closed her eyes for a moment to relax against Danny's chest. "There's tons of information out there about getting rid of benign spirits, they're like, a ghost hunter's cakewalk. But there's hardly anything on the other kind."

"They probably don't want every Joe Schmoe out there trying a do-it-yourself exorcism," Danny replied. "We'll get something."

"You guys are tryin' an exorcism?"

The two of them jerked at the sound of Adam Ross's voice from the doorway. He flushed. "I-I'm sorry, I was gonna g-give Lindsay the O'Malley file and I heard you guys talking and-" He looked at them excitedly. "You're seriously gonna try an exorcism?"

Danny looked down at Lindsay. She looked at him. They both turned to Adam. "Why?" Danny asked. "What do you know?"

Just then, Lindsay's phone blasted the generic ringtone for incoming calls. She looked at it. "I think this is McLaren," she said. "I'll let you two talk." She stepped out into the hallway.

* * *

Adam came in and sat down in her vacated chair. He began typing away on her computer. "So, what, is it like a ghost? Demon? Residual haunting, what?"

Danny blinked. _Demon...residual...what? _"How do you know so much about it?" he demanded.

He didn't miss a beat. "Oh, I never miss an episode of _Ghost Hunters_," Adam responded. "Or _Paranormal State_, or any of those shows," he admitted. "I love that kind of stuff." He spun around, looked at Danny. "Seriously? Which one of you two has the ghost problem?"

Danny rolled his eyes. "Lindsay," he said. "He's a problem, all right."

Adam stopped on a website. "Here's a bunch of information," he said. "You want me to print it off for you?" he asked.

Danny shook his head. "No. I have a better idea," he said with a grin.

* * *

Lindsay met Anita McLaren outside her son's room. "He's asleep right now," she said. "The doctor thinks he can go home tomorrow, but I think I'll put him up in a hotel until he finds another apartment. I don't want him going back to the other one."

"Don't worry, Mrs. McLaren," Lindsay replied. "It's highly unlikely that the attacker would come back to the scene of the crime. He would be fine at his apartment."

"I don't know," Anita replied. "In the meantime, he's concerned about his final paper. He wanted to know if you could bring him his laptop so he could work on it some more here?"

"They'll allow that?"

Anita shrugged. "I have a feelin' my son won't let them argue it one way or the other," she replied.

"When is his paper due?"

"Monday," she replied.

Lindsay nodded. "I'll grab it before I go back to work and bring it by after my shift," she replied.

"He's lucky to have a friend like you, Miss Monroe," Anita McLaren replied. "Thank you for looking out for my baby boy."

Lindsay blushed.

"You know what's interesting?" Anita McLaren offered as she walked Lindsay to the elevator. Lindsay turned. "McLaren tells me tonight is the like two hundred and twenty-something anniversary of the battle he's writing about."

_Interesting, she says_, Lindsay thought as she stepped into the elevator. _She has no idea._

* * *

"Adam?" Lindsay blinked. "You're serious."

Danny nodded. "Adam's like a walkin' Ghostbuster," he explained. "Plus, he's free."

"Not exactly," Adam said. "You told me there's two ghosts. I help you get rid of one," he said, "and I wanna meet the other."

"Pretty sure I can handle that price," Lindsay replied. "So my place at like seven? I'll ask Mac if we can take the last couple of hours off?"

Danny nodded. "I'm gonna go get some work done in Ballistics, then," he said. "I'll meet you all downstairs later?"

The other two nodded. Adam headed back into DNA and Lindsay went to Mac's office. He was on the phone when she stepped inside, but he held up a hand to have her wait until he finished. Then, "What can I do for you?" he asked. "Don't tell me another one of your cases involves a ghost."

"No, only the one. Which is what I wanted to talk with you about." Quickly, Lindsay sketched out the plan to her boss.

Mac nodded. "Considering the circumstances, I'm prepared to let the three of you have the night. But Lindsay," he said, his voice serious. "Be careful. This isn't something you can solve with a microscope and a GCMS."

"I know, Mac," Lindsay replied. "I'll be careful. I've got three very good guys looking out for me."

"Lindsay..." Mac spoke up as she was about to leave. "Have you considered the possibility that...by getting rid of James, in the process you might-"

"Send Callan into the afterlife as well?" Lindsay said as she turned from the doorway. She nodded. "I did. But then I realized that it would be okay. He would get to be with Laura...and I've still got all my real friends here." She smiled as she left the office.

* * *

By the end of the day, her smile had faded considerably as the realization of what she was about to do sunk in completely. She stepped into her apartment and set her bag down on the table with a heavy sigh.

"Miss Lindsay?" Callan asked, shimmering into view in the corner. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him. "Is it crazy that I'm going to miss you?" she asked him.

He smiled sadly as he crossed the room to stand next to her. "You're the first real friend I've had in over two hundred years," he said. "I'm going to miss you as well."

"I wish I could hug you," Lindsay admitted.

He paused, thinking. Then, he put one hand on her shoulder. She felt it, heavy and cold. Then the other hand. And then Callan wrapped his arms around her. She reached around him, feeling how cold he was, how heavy the fabric of his wool uniform was. The two friends, united for eternity.

Lindsay's lights flickered. The temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Lindsay could see her breath. She let go of Callan, and the two of them stepped apart. "Callan?"

"I do not know what is happening," he said. "This is a first for me as well."

One of Lindsay's side windows flew open, the glass shattering as it swung out against the side of the building. The hanging light in her kitchen began to swing, back and forth, nearly hitting the ceiling on either side.

"James," Lindsay whispered.

* * *

Danny pulled up on his Harley downstairs as a cab with Adam Ross met him there. Adam climbed out, a backpack in hand. He looked giddily excited.

"Who ya gonna call?" he teased as he stepped up to Danny.

But Danny's attention was focused fifteen floors up. He knew exactly which window was hers- and could see the lights flickering. Suddenly, one window burst open, slamming into the bricks and raining glass down below. Unsuspecting pedestrians screamed and dove for cover.

Adam's jaw dropped.

"We need to get up there-_now!_" Danny barked, and took off sprinting into the building, Adam hot on his heels.

* * *

**Author's Note: I realize Adam's acceptance of the whole situation is very quick, but I have a theory for that...this is ADAM we're talkin' about- the ultimate in geekness-you can't tell me something like this wouldn't completely psych him up! Plus, for the _Supernatural_ fans that are reading- think back to the episode 'Hell House'...**


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Dishes slammed onto the tile floor, exploding from the cupboards. Lindsay took shelter in the hall. Callan, though they would have gone right through him, ducked into the hall next to her. "What is our plan?" Callan yelled in Lindsay's ear.

"You're askin' _me_?" Lindsay yelled back. Her DVDs flew off the rack, pelting the couch and chair. "You knew the guy- what would he want?"

* * *

Danny bypassed the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time. He had his gun drawn, though he was pretty sure it was useless. But it made him feel more in control. _As in control as I can be with a ghost_. Adam followed, his backpack and the equipment inside it slamming into his back, matching his thundering heartbeat. Finally, the two men hit the fifteenth floor, and Danny sprinted the last few feet to Lindsay's apartment. He tried the knob, but it wouldn't budge. "Lindsay!" he yelled, slamming his fist into the door. "Lindsay!" He could hear things hitting the walls and breaking inside the apartment.

"Danny, Danny we need to get in there," Adam said urgently. "We can't do anything out here!"

"Then get over here and _help_, damn it!" Danny shot back as he slammed his shoulder into the door.

* * *

Lindsay became aware of yelling and banging from the hallway. "Callan, that's Danny," she said. "Something's trying to keep him out."

Callan nodded. "Stay here," he commanded. Then, he ducked into the kitchen , dodging flying plates and silverware. A knife popped out of the block and drove straight for the soldier.

"Callan!" Lindsay screamed.

Callan dove to the floor as it slammed into the wall, inches from where his head used to be. He scrambled across the floor until he reached the door. He yanked on the handle. From the other side, he could hear Danny as he rammed it with his shoulder. "Danny!" Callan called.

"Callan? Open the door!"

"I can't! It appears to be stuck!"

And then the ghost froze. Chills ratcheted up and down his spine, though he shouldn't have been able to feel them. He turned away from the door.

The room was silent. Lindsay's light was swinging limply from the kitchen ceiling. Pieces of crockery were strewn everywhere, mixed with silverware and DVDs and knickknacks.

Lindsay poked her head out of the hallway. "Callan?"

Then the voice spoke. "Well, Callan Doyle. Funny running into you again."

Callan's cobalt eyes narrowed. "James," he hissed in acknowledgement.

* * *

"Danny, listen."

Danny stopped as he stepped back for another hit and listened. "I don't hear anything anymore," he said.

"Me either," Adam said. "Think that's a good sign?"

"I don't know," Danny admitted. He tried the door handle again. The door still wouldn't budge. Whatever was going on inside, Danny and Adam were not going to be a part of it.

* * *

The second ghost materialized in the living room. Death had not been good to James Benjamin. His hair was wild and tangled, his eyes had a feral look. Callan could see battle wounds and scars up and down his arms, neck and face. His clothes hung in tatters.

And unlike Callan, James _smelled_ of death. The stench was so strong Lindsay retched in her hall.

"What are you doing here, James?" Callan demanded. "Why are you tormenting this woman?"

"I haven't seen ya in two hundred years, Cal!" James said with a grin. "I'm just havin' a little fun with my friend...right before I kill you."

"Why wait 'til now?" Lindsay asked, stepping into the living room. She watched James size her up...and shivered at the way he looked at her.

"I didn't realize that Cal was still walkin' around," James admitted. "Not til that historian that lives two floors down came home and started poundin' away on that machine of his about some painting he'd seen." He looked at Callan. "The one our buddy Defoe painted." He pointed at the painting, which was still sitting in two pieces on the floor. "So I came up to have a gander at what he was talkin' about. And I saw it. He painted the place where my brother died." James's ugly brown eyes narrowed at Callan. "And then...I felt you. I could always tell when you were close by. I watched. I watched you tell your sob story to the lady here."

"You were _watching_ me?" Lindsay growled.

"Spunky, isn't she?" James noted.

"Why'd you hurt McLaren?" she demanded, ignoring the barb.

"The historian? He caught me goin' through his research. I wanted to know what history said about my brother and me."

"What's the matter? Didn't like what you were reading?"

"They called me a _traitor_!" James howled. "Said I turned tail." He looked menacingly at Callan. "When the whole time it was _you_! You let them know we were coming! You're the reason my brother-why _I_- am dead!"

"James, two hundred years and the truth is still the same- I did _not_ tell them you were coming!"

"Your brother did," Lindsay said quietly.

James whipped around to glare at her. "How _dare_ you."

"Paul was paid off. He told the British you were coming. They were ready for you because your own brother told them you were coming that night!"

James growled, a guttural, animal-like sound. He threw himself at Lindsay, knocking her to the ground. Callan stepped forward, grabbed James by the shoulders and spun him around. "Leave her alone," he told him. "This is between us, and us alone."

"You're the reason my sister is _dead_," James hissed. "Paul might have turned us in, but if Laura hadn't been protecting _you­-_" He threw a right cross, his fist slamming into Callan's jaw. Callan staggered backwards as James came at him again, jamming his knee into Callan's stomach. Callan doubled over.

Lindsay came at James. "Leave him alone!" she yelled as she threw her fist at James, hitting him with a decent left hook.

James touched a hand gingerly to his face. He looked at Lindsay. Before she could react, he grabbed her by the arms...and flung her toward the open window. Lindsay couldn't stop herself. Before she knew what was happening, she was toppling out the window.

She screamed.

* * *

Danny heard it from the hallway. "_Lindsay!"_ he cried, thrusting his shoulder one final time into the door. He swore a four-letter streak that would've made a sailor blush...and then he pulled his gun. With one well-aimed shot, the door popped loose and Danny kicked it in.

He could see Callan and another pale man who could only be James Benjamin. Both looked up at him. He couldn't see Lindsay.

And then, behind James, he spotted two hands with a white-knuckle grip on the windowsill. His heart stopped beating. "Lindsay!"

Adam stepped inside, throwing down his backpack and whipping out a book. "Danny?"

"Adam! Do it!" Danny said. He threw himself at James as Adam turned to the middle of the book and started reading. The words were unfamiliar to Danny, but he could tell they were getting through to James and Callan. The two men obviously understood Latin.

"Get Lindsay!" Danny yelled to Callan as he knocked James to the ground. "Adam, whatever you do, _don't_ stop reading!"

Adam kept intoning Latin from the kitchen floor.

James howled again and sent a stack of plates flying towards the lab tech. Adam broke long enough to dive behind the kitchen table as a shield, then continued reading.

* * *

Callan leaned out the window. "Lindsay!" he yelled. She looked up at him, terror in her eyes. "Callan! My hands are slipping."

"Take mine!" Callan reached a hand out the window. She inched her hand off the sill, grasping his ice-cold hand in hers. Her other hand scrambled for a firmer hold...right over a piece of the broken glass. She cried out- and let go.

Callan's hand grasped her forearm. "I've got you!" he grimaced as he held on. "Help me pull you inside!"

* * *

James sent Danny flying across the room, but the man had admirable persistence. He came at him again, throwing the both of them down the hallway. James went to kick Danny off...and his leg went _through_ Danny instead of connecting.

"No!" James cried.

From the kitchen, Adam kept reciting the Latin.

* * *

Danny heard Lindsay scream, and realized what was happening. He threw himself _through_ James, the shock of the cold like jumping into the East River on the coldest day of January. He caught his breath and dove for the window.

"Danny, my hand!" Callan cried.

"It's okay, I got her!" Danny grabbed Lindsay's bleeding hand and together, the two men pulled her inside. She collapsed to the carpet.

James staggered out of the hall, his moves erratic. Lindsay sized up the situation, and then looked at Callan. He was more see-through than usual. "No!" she cried. "Danny, no!"

"We have to!" He held her close. "It's the only way we can stop this!"

"No, Danny-Callan-"

Callan stood up. "It's all right, Miss Lindsay." He looked down at her with a sad smile. "I've served my purpose. I saved you. I've atoned for Laura." A tear slipped down his face. "Thank you," he said.

Then, he turned, his face hardening as he looked at James. And then he threw himself at James.

James screamed...and the two of them both disappeared.

From the kitchen, Adam slumped to the floor, out of breath and dead tired.

Lindsay put her head on Danny's chest and cried.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, so that's chapter sixteen. What'd you all think? I don't know if I like it or not. I'd appreciate the feedback. Oh, and go check out the poll on my profile page, if you get a chance. My plot bunny wants to know what to start working on next. I think there's one chapter left of 'Spooks in the City' left.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY"; they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Last chapter, last chance to vote in the poll on my page as to what you'd wanna see next. Thanks for all your reviews, and alerts and favoriting me! I now present the final chapter of "Spooks in the City"**

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

_3 Days Later..._

Lindsay stared up at the ceiling in her bedroom. Three days. Three days had passed since her apartment had been declared ghost-free, and surprisingly, she was missing it. She missed the random questions from Callan on what her modern appliances were, or what precisely a Dorito tasted like, or why characters on television shows behaved so ridiculously, especially on daytime soaps. Or, what precisely a television did.

Danny wasn't sure how to handle it. He'd stopped over quite a bit the past few days to check up on her. She declared she was fine, but he knew otherwise. She was acting like she'd lost a good friend, and in a way, he supposed she had. Although, Danny was thankful for the fact that now he didn't feel like he was being watched if he and Lindsay got intimate.

Lindsay's cell phone rang. She rolled over, picked it up from the nightstand. It was a Texas cell phone number-Anita McLaren. Today was the day McLaren got to come home from the hospital. Originally planned for earlier, Anita McLaren was slightly leery, so Lindsay had Mac make up some kind of story about having the suspect in custody. It was enough to let her have her son come home.

"Good morning," she greeted Anita. "Sure, I'll be down in a half hour." She hung up the phone and sat up slowly in bed. _Get a grip_, she told herself. _Be happy. He's with Laura now_. She got out of bed and took a quick shower. She had just clipped her badge to her belt and slid her gun in its' holster when she felt it. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She came out of the bedroom and down the hall, rounded the corner- and noticed that one corner of the plastic sheeting on her window had come loose. It flapped in the strong breeze, bringing in fresh fall air. Lindsay sighed. She made a mental note to call building maintenance again.

"Miss Lindsay."

She froze. _No way._ She turned around slowly...and came face to face with Callan Flynn Doyle. The ghost smiled happily at her.

"Callan!" Lindsay crossed the room and stopped in front of him, tentatively. She put up one hand. "Are....are you really...?"

He took her hand firmly in his and pulled her to him, giving her a warm yet shiveringly cold hug. "I am," he said.

"How?" she asked, letting go of him and stopping to catch her breath.

He shook his head. "I don't know." He brightened. "But, Miss Lindsay, I have someone for you to meet."

A new voice said, shyly, "Hello."

Lindsay looked past Callan. The woman standing behind him was beautiful, with long blonde hair and pretty hazel eyes. She was just as pale as Callan. "Lindsay, this is my Laura," Callan explained.

Lindsay smiled. "I've heard so much about you."

Laura smiled in return. "As have I," she said. "Thank you, for returning my Callan to me."

"I...ah...it was nothing," Lindsay said. Laura stepped next to Callan and put an arm around his waist. He returned the gesture. They were beautiful together.

Just then, Lindsay's watch beeped the top of the hour. "Oh!" she grimaced. "Callan....I-I need to go...but don't leave! I mean, could you just hang here for like...a half hour?"

"'Hang'?" Laura looked at Callan questioningly.

He kissed her forehead. "We have all the time in the world," he told her. Then he frowned. "At least, I think we do."

* * *

Lindsay managed to get the fastest cabbie in the city to drop her at the hospital. She used her clout to push through exit paperwork, and then they dropped McLaren's mother off at the airport. "Lindsay, I'm not movin' as fast as I used to," McLaren said. "Why are we in such a hurry? I still have part of my paper to hash out."

Lindsay grinned. "And I think I can help you with that," she said.

* * *

She half-helped, half-hurried McLaren up the stairs, not stopping at his apartment. "Where are we-"

"Come on, I'll explain when we get to my place."

"Montana."

Lindsay turned to see Danny, who was on his lunch break, taking the stairs after her. "Hi! Come on, come on!"

He tailed them to the fifteenth floor. Lindsay unlocked her door, ushered both men inside, closed the door, and practically shoved them to the living room.

Danny hadn't seen her this happy in three days, and seriously wondered what was going on. Her place was still in shambles, the broken window...well, still broken.

Lindsay helped McLaren to the couch. "I have a surprise for both of you," she said.

It was then that Callan and Laura reappeared together, holding hands. Danny's eyes widened. "How-"

"We don't know," Lindsay cut in, saving Callan from having to repeat himself.

"Danny. Thank you," Callan said. "This is my Laura."

Danny smiled. "She's hot," he complimented her, reacting only the way Danny could.

Laura frowned, looking at Callan again. "I'm what?" she asked. Callan only laughed.

McLaren was staring, wide-eyed at the ghosts. "Lindsay..."

"McLaren, I'd like to introduce you to Corporal Callan Flynn Doyle."

"I...yeah, I recognize him from the portrait in my book..." the college student stammered. "What are you, like a historical reenactor?"

Callan thought about it for a moment. "No. I am...how do you put it...the 'real deal,'" he said. "I heard you are writing a document on the last night at Fort Llewellyn?"

"I...yeah," McLaren said, dazed.

"Well, how about if I tell you what truly happened on that night in 1783?" Callan offered. He gingerly sat down next to McLaren on the couch, and motioned for Laura to sit as well. She sat easily, much easier than Callan had on his first try.

"We'll let you guys talk," Lindsay said with a smile. She took Danny's hand and headed for her bedroom. She sat down on the bed, and Danny sat next to her.

"This is incredible," Danny admitted. "So is he still stuck here...or..."

Lindsay shook her head. "Is it so bad if he is?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess if you're all right with it?"

"Or maybe this is like a one-day pass or something," Lindsay said. "To come back, say goodbye."

"Hmmm. I dunno." Danny leaned back on the bed, pulling Lindsay down with him. "I do know one thing, though."

"What's that?" Lindsay asked, brushing her hair from her face. Danny reached up for the assist and gently pulled her closer to him.

"If he's gonna stick around," Danny said. "Then let's get a few things out of the way while I know he's occupied...and not watching."

* * *

Author's Note II: Check my profile on the weekend, I'll have the poll results and my next project posted! Thanks again!


End file.
